


White Teeth, Black Leather / White Soul, Black Feathers

by trashtrashtrash03



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Agender Character, Asexual Relationship, Genderfluid Character, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Post-Canon, back on my bullshit.jpeg, buckle in, summary sounds ominous but this is gonna be tooth rotting yall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2020-05-12 02:18:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 23,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19219588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashtrashtrash03/pseuds/trashtrashtrash03
Summary: After the end of the world, Heaven and Hell decide to leave well enough alone. Truly alone. Crowley and Aziraphale are finally free to explore their relationship with no pressure. But at what cost?





	1. it's twelve o'clock in Soho, baby

**Author's Note:**

> I read Good Omens like 10 years ago and I loved it and now the show... I'm weak.  
> Work title from "Ride" by Clans

“To the world.” Crowley offered his glass towards Aziraphale, whose eyes filled with warmth. He gave Crowley a heavenly smile, one that said ‘thank you’ and ‘I love you’ and ‘I’m proud of you’ all in one.

“To the world.” Their glasses clinked gently.

The apocalypse had been averted, their plan to survive punishment had succeeded, and they were both free of their respective yokes. There were so many things for both of them to say. Apologies to be made, forgiveness to express, compassion, gratitude, even love. And now, they had all the time in the world to say those things. Tonight, they would focus on relief.

They dined on some of Aziraphale’s favorites: oysters, fine cheeses, and sponge cake for dessert. Crowley surprised himself by actually partaking of and enjoying the food – normally he just sits and drinks and enjoys the angel’s company. But everything was delicious, and it is the Ritz, so why not?

“You know, I’ve got just the bottle for an occasion like this. Château Margaux, 1787. Heavens, that was a good year for the grapes. I bought up a whole case and I only have the one bottle left. I’d say, if there ever was a day for it, it should be today, hm?”

Crowley smiled indulgently at the angel. He had no real taste for high quality alcohol. Wine was wine, scotch was scotch, and while the cheaper stuff tasted a bit more of rubbing alcohol than the rest, well, it all got the job done. But he liked to hear Aziraphale get excited.

“First day of the rest of our lives, that’s a good enough occasion for me.” Crowley left an enormous wad of cash on the table and stood to leave, Aziraphale following in his wake.

They walked back to the bookshop leisurely, enjoying the fine weather and, well, the continued existence of things like bookshops and weather. They remained comfortably silent, most of the way. After 6000 years of friendship, neither of them felt the need to fill space with idle chatter.

They soon found themselves in Aziraphale’s flat above the bookshop, which he had closed early for the day, enjoying some very old wine. Crowley had splayed himself across the chaise, while Aziraphale sat with legs crossed at the desk chair. They chatted about everything and nothing, flowing easily between companionable silence and bursts of conversation. After the first bottle was spent and a second, less prestigious bottle was half drained, the boys were focused on the eternal question: why aren’t dolphins fish?

“It’s, well, iznot much of a ‘why’ question, the’just aren’t.” Crowley drained his glass and reached for the bottle to top himself off, but leaning too far off the couch proved treacherous. He set the glass down and waited for the room to stop spinning.

“All I’m saying is, it seems like a waste of time to me! You’re a fish, right? And then you – not you, personally, stop giggling like that Crowley – you evolve whatever traits you need to live on land. A few generations later, you’re a mammal. Then you go back to the sea? What purpose does it serve? Where in the inbeff- inerf- in God’s plan does it benefit anyone to have dolphins be mammals?!” Aziraphale’s face was turning red as he spoke, getting genuinely heated. Crowley couldn’t help but cackle at the sight of an upside down, very flustered Aziraphale – upside down, of course, because of how Crowley was sitting with head was hanging off the chaise. He was barely following the words anymore, it was just too hilarious.

Aziraphale found himself hiccupping a laugh at the sight of Crowley, actually upside down, nearly choking on his mirth, and soon both of them were laughing so hard their eyes streamed.

“You know my dear, I think –hic—I think we are both far too drunk.” Aziraphale managed between aftershocks of laughter.

Crowley tried to right himself on the chaise, and wound up tumbling onto the floor, which sent them both into a spiral of laughter again.

“Mmph, yeah, I think we’d better – burp – put it back.”

They both tensed, trying to force the alcohol out of their bloodstream, but neither of them felt the characteristic head rush of approaching sobriety at breakneck speed. Both of them furrowed their brows and stared at the empty bottles, which, despite their straining, remained empty.

“Araziful, I think I’m too drunk to sober up.” Crowley sat up slowly, looking at the angel with consternation.

“Yes, I can’t do it either.” Aziraphale held one of the bottles up to his face and grimaced again, as if proximity would make the process easier. It did not.

“Well, shit.” Crowley knew he probably should have been more concerned, but he was extremely drunk, and things had been so strange for the past few days that this might as well happen. He sighed. “Guess I’m crashing here tonight, then.”

Aziraphale hummed agreement. “Make yourself at home, my dear. I’m going to lie down, I think, my head feels… odd.” He stood and started to teeter out of the room into his bedroom. If Crowley were sober he might have questioned that, based on the fact that Aziraphale almost never slept. But he wasn’t, so he didn’t.

“Hey, Aziraphale.” He stopped and turned to the demon on his living room floor. “Good job saving the world.”

The angel smiled brightly. “And you, my dear Crowley. Well done. Goodnight.”

Crowley managed to mumble a ‘goodnight’ in return before planting his face in the pillows of the chaise. He dozed off wondering why the bookstore was rocking as if it was on a boat. It had never done that before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> challenge to myself for this fic is name every chapter after a hozier lyric thats just so painfully A/C


	2. hope, even on this side of the grave again

The first thing Crowley became aware of in the morning was his bladder. Usually, he didn’t bother finding a loo and just used a little divine power to get rid of the problem. This morning, however, he waved his hand and waited for the pressure to abate, and it very much didn’t. In fact, somehow, by thinking about it, it became more urgent. He groaned aloud.

Bits and pieces of the night before drifted back to him. He remembered trying – and failing – to sober up in the usual way. Now that he was mostly sober, his continuing inability to work minor miracles unnerved him.

After another pang from below, he decided to sort that out after finding a loo. He’d done things the long way before, it wasn’t that much of a hardship. It just meant he had to get up.

The second thing he noticed that morning was how fucking hard it was to get up when your head felt like it was full of bricks. He took a steadying breath before pushing himself up to sitting, and he almost blacked out from the effort.

_What is wrong with me?_

There was a throbbing pain behind his eyes, his stomach was in knots, and his mouth tasted like something had curled up on his tongue and died.

Oh god. Dear fucking Satan.

He was _hungover_?!

Crowley had never been hungover in all his 6000 years, but he knew enough about humans, and torturing them, to recognize the symptoms. He groaned aloud and staggered towards the bathroom. After addressing one of his (many) problems, he opened the door and bumped right into Aziraphale.

“Crowley, I think I’m dying.” His face was pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. His hands trembled, and he was breathing heavily, as if walking down the hall from his bedroom had been a herculean effort.

“Nauseous? Dizzy? Can’t miracle away the desperate need to piss?” Aziraphale nodded, looking frantic. “Yeah, me too. We’re hungover, angel.”

Aziraphale sputtered. “Hung Over? Celestial beings do not get hangovers!”

Crowley slid out of the angel’s way, allowing him access to the bathroom. “We do today.”

Aziraphale hurried past Crowley and slammed the door. Crowley was about to head back to the couch, very much needing to be horizontal again, when he heard Aziraphale start retching.

“Aziraphale? You okay?” His voice was thin with worry. It sounded like Aziraphale tried to stutter a response but all he could hear was continued retching.

Maybe he actually was dying. Crowley banged the door open and came to kneel behind the angel, who was face-deep in the toilet. His face was red and his neck was tense as he gasped for air between bouts of sickness.

Crowley had seen humans vomit before, but seeing his angel like this made his heart twist. He rubbed small circles into his back, muttering soothing nothings.

After a few minutes, Aziraphale leaned back and flushed the toilet, still breathing quite heavily. “I don’t… I don’t understand.” He pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes. “Heavens, my head is pounding. This shouldn’t be possible!”

Crowley’s unease that had started last night had only grown with each new torment. They were celestials. An angel and a demon. They didn’t get hangovers. They didn’t vomit. They didn’t even usually breathe, if they didn’t want to. He eyed Aziraphale’s still heaving chest, his heart sinking. He had a theory, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“Aziraphale. Do you feel like you _have_ to breathe?” Crowley held his own breath, to test the sensation.

The angel made a quizzical face before realization dawned on him. “Yes. When I was sick just now, my chest burned for air like it never has before.”

Crowley, after holding his breath for about 20 seconds, felt the same. First came pressure in his chest, then a burning, then his breathing restarted without his permission. The worry that had been worming around inside of him turned sharp. “Can you do a miracle? Any miracle. A small one. Please?” His voice nearly broke on the last word.

Aziraphale, eyebrows knitted, pointed at the sink. Nothing happened. The angel snapped his fingers, staring at them intently, but nothing changed. His breath quickened. “I can’t do anything.”

Crowley swallowed heavily, finally understanding what had been feeling off for the last day.

“Angel, I think they’ve made us mortal.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, horrible understanding crossing his features. “… Oh, fu-“ he was cut off by another bout of sickness. Crowley thought that was an appropriate sentiment, either way.


	3. we tried the world, good god, it wasn't for us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow yall! I wasn't gonna update again so fast but after so many lovely comments I couldn't not.

They spent the rest of the day recovering, mostly silently. There was plenty of moaning and groaning, though, as they were not used to this kind of suffering. Sure, they’d both experienced their fair share of pain. Crowley, when he was cast out of heaven, and he felt hellfire for the first time. Aziraphale, when he had been discorporated. But this was a new, very human kind of suffering. Mild physical pains that lasted a very long time. It was made worse by the fact that neither of them had thought to drink any water for thousands of years. Why would you, when you could drink nothing but fine wines and good scotch and never feel a consequence?

It was well into the evening before they realized they should probably be eating and drinking as humans do, and they ordered in. Normally, Aziraphale would never stoop so low as to have sub-par food delivered to him, but leaving the house didn’t strike him as a very appealing option, so he stooped.

They sat in the kitchen, eating pizza and guzzling water, and they started to feel a bit more like themselves.

“What shall we do now?” Aziraphale asked quietly.

“Do?” Crowley quirked an eyebrow over his sunglasses. He’d had them on all day, more for the sake of shielding his eyes from bright light than for any kind of concealment.

“Well, you have to figure that if we’re mortal now, our clocks are ticking. How old do you think these bodies are, functionally? 40? 50? We have a few decades left before they start to crumble. If we even last that long. Human bodies are so fragile.”

Crowley chuckled darkly. “Yeah, obviously. One bout of drinking and you’re laid up all the next day? Why do humans do it?”

Aziraphale gently smacked the back of his hand from across the table. “I’m being serious, Crowley. We have to be careful. How many times have we been in life-threatening situations and only come out unscathed because of our miracles? Hm? Why, every time I get in the car with you I-“ Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Crowley, give me your keys.”

“What?” He looked taken aback and a little offended. “No! What?”

“I cannot let you drive in this condition!” Aziraphale leaned forward, speaking earnestly.

“I’m not still drunk, Aziraphale!”

“That’s not what I mean! You drive like a madman and you rely on miracles to keep yourself safe. If you try to drive now, as a mortal, you will die. At the very least, you’ll get pulled over, and then what? You don’t exactly have a driver’s license.”

“Oi, I’m not that bad! And I can get a license.”

“What will you tell the registrar, hm? Birthdate: 0?”

Crowley leaned back in his seat, huffing in indignation. “I know a guy who could fudge all that stuff.” He looked away, pensive. “Should actually reach out, have him make us up some human passports and the like.”

“Please, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s tone brought his attention right back. The angel reached out a hand for the keys. His eyes were desperate. “If I lose you now, after everything, over something as silly as this, I don’t think I could bear it. My fragile little mortal heart would just give out.”

Aziraphale was right. Crowley did drive using about 10% skill and 90% demonic miracles. He would have to re-learn all the rules of the road, probably even drive the _speed limit_. He shuddered to think. Making a big show of reluctance, he dug his keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Aziraphale.

“Thank you.” Aziraphale smiled at him with angelic gratitude and Crowley knew that he’d have happily forked over his left arm if it meant winning that smile again. Hell, he’d gone soft. He removed his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. Aziraphale gasped.

“Crowley… Your eyes…”

The demon looked up, remembering the reason he’d been wearing those blasted sunglasses all his life.

“They’re… well, they’re brown.” Aziraphale leaned forward a bit, investigating, with a small smile on his face. “My, they’re lovely.” Crowley had to bite down on a bashful smile. Demons do _not_ smile bashfully, and even if he wasn’t technically a demon anymore, Crowley was committed to the aesthetic.

He got up and went to look in the bathroom mirror. His eyes were a dark shade of brown. The pupil was decidedly rounded. Much more of the whites showed than he was used to. He looked human.

“Spose I don’t need these anymore, eh?” He returned to his pizza and tapped his sunglasses against the table.

“I’ve always found them rather dashing.” Aziraphale hid a fond smile behind a napkin, dabbing grease away from his lips. The compliment made Crowley’s heart do some weird gymnastics. He put the glasses back on, mostly to give himself a bit of comfortable distance, but a little bit because the angel said he liked them. He cleared his throat.

“You’re right, though, angel. We’ve only got 30 good years without heaven and hell on our respective backs, we’d better start doing something interesting. How would you like to spend your own personal end times?” Crowley stood to refill their glasses – with water, unfortunately – so he didn’t see Aziraphale start to wring his hands.

Aziraphale remained silent for a moment, and when Crowley turned from the sink to hand him his glass, he paused, sensing the angel’s nerves.

“Well, um, my dear, I was rather hoping to spend them… together, if you’re amenable.” Aziraphale’s eyes flitted between the empty plate in front of him and Crowley’s face.

Crowley huffed a laugh. “Well, I thought that was assumed.”

Aziraphale accepted his glass and gave Crowley another one of those heavenly smiles. The one that was equal parts ‘I was right and I’m smug about it’ and ‘bashfully aware of how much Crowley loves me’. That one was one of his favorites.

After a few beats of thoughtful silence, Aziraphale piped up again. “You keep calling me that.” It sounded like a question.

“Callin you what?”

“’Angel.’ Not exactly accurate anymore, it seems.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Do you want me to stop?”

He sputtered. “Well, I don’t – it’s not as if – I don’t hate it. It’s just-“ _now that you’re saying it and I’m not literally an angel, the word takes on a different meaning._ “- it’s just not accurate anymore.” He finished lamely.

Crowley leaned back in his seat. “Eh, sure it is. You’ll always be my angel.” He thrilled in the blush that rose up Aziraphale’s neck. _Oh, this is too much fun._

He was not yet accustomed to unfettered access to Aziraphale. Normally, he’d bask in this feeling of being cared about, admired, wanted, for a day or two at most, and then they’d part ways. For the last eleven years, they’d been working a little more closely, but this was a record. They’d spent nearly 48 consecutive hours in each other’s space, and Crowley was a bit surprised by how easy it all felt. It made him want to dig in deeper.

“Well, that was a fine repast, but I’m feeling quite knackered from our long day of recuperating.” Aziraphale stood from the table, starting to clear their plates. He huffed to himself. “This is going to be quite a fuss, having to sleep every single night.”

“I couldn’t disagree more. If anything, that part’s an upgrade.” Crowley sauntered towards the living room, already craving the suspended nothingness of sleep. Hell, he loved to sleep. He supposed his days of sleeping for nearly a hundred years straight were behind him, but a mandatory nightly kip would be nice too. “Alright if I crash again? Seeing as you’ve confiscated my car keys…” He threw himself down onto the chaise without waiting for a response.

“Oh, Crowley, you don’t have to sleep on the couch again, that thing is far too small for you! Poor dear, come sleep in my bed.” Aziraphale bustled into the living room, ushering him up.

“How very forward of you, angel, but alright.” Crowley was only half joking. Popping a head into Aziraphale’s bedroom revealed a huge bed, plenty wide enough for two – or even three if the occasion called for it – and covered in plush white blankets.

Aziraphale shot him a withering look. “I meant, you take my bed and I will sleep on the chaise.”

“Oh, nonsense! I’m not kicking you out of your own bed. Come on, the bed is big enough we could both drown in it.” Crowley sat on the edge of the bed and patted the unoccupied side. He saw the color drain from Aziraphale’s face, but the angel only hesitated for a second.

“Well, alright then.” And he bustled himself into the bedroom. He puttered around for a few minutes, fussing with this and that, while Crowley watched him from the bed. They both still wore the rumpled clothes they slept in last night, so it’s not as if there was much else to be done before bed. The angel was just dawdling on purpose. He could feel Aziraphale’s nervousness crackling between them like static electricity.

Crowley sighed. “I really don’t mind the couch, if you’re not –“

“Don’t be silly!” Aziraphale turned to Crowley, feigning confidence. “Don’t be silly.” He repeated, seemingly to himself this time. He switched off the light and moved to lay down beneath the covers. Crowley did the same and curled up on his side, watching the angel move in the dark. He could already feel his eyelids start to droop. Hell, it was so much easier to drift off to sleep when your body was mortal and exhausted, rather than forcing your perpetually awake demon brain to stop dead in its tracks.

The angel rolled over so they were facing one another. Crowley had been right, there was plenty of room between them still, but the darkness and the silence lent a certain intimacy.

“Am I, Crowley? Too forward?” His voice was small, nervous. “Because if you’d rather go your own way in these next few years, I would understand. Our time is so limited, all of the sudden, and I-“

“Shhh, angel, stop worrying.” Crowley took one of Aziraphale’s hands in his own and the angel’s eyes followed the motion. “I’m honored you’ve invited me to share your last decades. There’s no one else I’d rather suffer mortality with.” He considered how honest he wanted to be, and decided that it was better to say it now, in the dark and peace and quiet, and just have it be Said. “I love you, Aziraphale. You’re my best friend.”

Aziraphale’s eyes had not left their joined hands. Crowley watched his face morph through the recognizable 5 stages of Dealing with Crowley. Confusion. Fear. Nerves. Interest. Indulgence.

“I rather suppose there’s no reason now not to say it, hm? No heaven or hell breathing down our necks, waiting for us to trip up. The final punishment has been dealt. Now, we’re just two mortal men on Earth. No reason to be afraid.”

He locked eyes with Crowley, opened his mouth, and then closed it. Opened, closed. Tensed his jaw. Crowley could see that he wanted to reply in kind, but he was trained to fear. He could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. _But what if heaven is still watching? What if this is part of a test? What if some truly awful, old testament punishment still awaits them, if they succumb?_

_You go too fast for me, Crowley._

“I’m s-“ Aziraphale began an apology that Crowley did not want to hear.

“I know, angel. Go to sleep.” He squeezed their held hands once, smiling softly, before rolling over. He believed that Aziraphale loved him, or at least, could love him now that they were free. They’d been the only beings on each other’s team for 6000 years. They’d saved each other’s necks countless times. And now, the angel was taking him under his wing once again. He was giving him the last few decades of their lives. It was clear how Aziraphale felt about him. He could wait for the angel to become confident that they were free, and say it on his own time. He could wait until the end of his days.

He didn’t have that many left, anyway.


	4. everything that we're denied by keeping the divide

Crowley woke first, feeling disoriented. He wasn’t in his flat. The bed he was in was not his own. The arms wrapped around his torso were also not his own. His eyes slid down to the man with his face curled into his shoulder, and his heart fluttered. Aziraphale snored very softly into the fabric of Crowley’s black v-neck. The same one he’d been wearing for three days straight, he realized. He let his eyes slip closed again, just enjoying the closeness while he could. Surely, the angel would wake soon, and awkwardly disentangle himself from Crowley. They would likely not speak of it.

The spell lasted nearly another hour before Crowley was proven right. Aziraphale snuffled a bit, peeled open his eyes, and sat up to stretch. Crowley could see the beginnings of a blush on the back of the angel’s neck, but he couldn’t see his face from here. Aziraphale climbed out of bed and headed for the kitchen without a word. Crowley remained lying there until he heard the kettle whistle.

“Good morning, my dear! Sleep well?” Aziraphale asked brightly, fixing them both a cup of tea and sitting down at the table.

“I think you know I did, angel.” Crowley ribbed, still rubbing sleep out of his eye. The corner of Aziraphale’s mouth twitched upward, but otherwise he did not react. Crowley plopped down across from the angel and started sipping his tea. He didn’t know what he expected to hear. _I’ve never slept better in my life. I want to spend the rest of my nights curled up in your scent. I feel so at home in your arms._ Crowley quelled this line of thinking, not allowing himself the torture of imagining things the angel would never say out loud.

“I was thinking we could go downtown for breakfast? There’s that little pastry shop we visited in the 80s that we both quite liked.”

“1980s?”

“1880s.”

“And it’s still there? God bless.”

Aziraphale took a moment to change out of his rumpled pajamas – Crowley had nothing else to wear, but he at least put on his sunglasses – and they walked downtown together. The family that owned the bakery had not changed their recipes in the last hundred years and Aziraphale was pleased as punch. After they had finished, though, Crowley realized he had no real reason to invite himself back to the bookshop, nor one to invite Aziraphale over. ‘Let’s get roaring drunk together out of boredom’ certainly wasn’t going to be a common pastime for them anymore.

After the table was cleared and the check paid, they sat in uncomfortable silence for a minute or two, both likely grappling with the same question. _What happens now?_

“Well, I’d uh, I’d better go… check on my plants.” Crowley fidgeted with his sunglasses.

Aziraphale nodded. “Of course, of course. Maybe I’ll open the bookshop for a few hours today. See if anyone is interested in that series of Adam Young originals that miraculously appeared on my shelves.” Crowley smiled. Adam Young was a good kid. He regretted how readily he had tried to kill him, especially considering all the kid needed was an angel and a devil on each shoulder, both urging him to tell Satan to fuck off.

Another beat of awkward silence fell between them.

“Well, alright then.” Crowley stood first, dusted himself off, and moved to leave.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale also stood.

“Hm?”

The angel stammered for a moment. “What would you say to dinner tonight? If you’re available, of course.” Crowley had to stop himself rolling his eyes. _Actually, I’m really busy now that I’ve got no job and no peers in the world except you._ He was relieved to hear the strain of worry in Aziraphale’s voice that he had also been feeling. The fear that they would just go back to normal. Share a meal now and again, drop in unannounced, but mostly still go their own way.

No, not if Crowley had anything to say about it.

“I’ll pick you up at 6.” Crowley tipped his sunglasses down so that the angel could see him wink before leaving. He didn’t look back to gauge how the angel reacted, mostly because it would ruin the moment, and partially because he himself was blushing about it.

Back at his own flat, he wandered through the place with distaste. He’d spent long enough crashing with Aziraphale that he could see the place with new eyes and it was… hellish. All dark colors and sharp corners and stark pretenses. It was ascetic in the way you would expect the living quarters of an infernal being to be. Why decorate? Why bother spending millennia collecting little keepsakes? Why even have furniture at all, demons having no need to sleep or eat? The perfect living space for a demon would be an empty, black, metal box where he would spend his inactive moments on Earth sitting perfectly still and doing nothing at all. His flat was a few houseplants and a bed away from being just that.

He hated it.

Aziraphale’s place felt so _lived in_. Little tchotchkes littered every surface, reminding him of the year he went somewhere or met someone that became important to him. He collected memories like a dragon with a treasure trove. The art that hung on his walls was painted for him, gifts from old friends. The works of famous authors littered his shelves, all signed with little notes of affection for the angel. Crowley looked around his apartment and saw none of that, and even after all the times he had mocked Aziraphale for his sentimentality, Crowley suddenly felt very alone.

He tried to clear his mind while tending to the plants for as long as he could reasonably manage. They didn’t quiver when he scolded them anymore. They just sat there, beautiful as ever, but fully inanimate.

“Oi, just because I’m not a demon anymore doesn’t mean I can’t kill you. Humans _eat_ plants. Yeah, they’re called vegetarians, and they’re the _gentle_ ones. Meat eaters would just leave you here with no water until you wither and die. It’d be slow and painful.” But not a single leaf fluttered. He huffed unhappily.

The clock read half past one when Crowley finally gave up on the plants. In four hours he could leave and be on his way back to Aziraphale. Three and a half, if he committed himself to walking there slowly.

He decided to take a nap to pass the time. At least that way, he wouldn’t spend the next three hours stewing in his own self-loathing.

-

Aziraphale heard a knock on the door at 5:50. It was not like Crowley to be early for something, so he called out, “We’re quite closed!” He heard a key jangle in the lock.

“S’me, angel. Are you ready?” Crowley called, waiting for Aziraphale to pop out of the maze of bookshelves.

“Oh, my dear, you’re early!” Aziraphale hurried across the shop.

Crowley shrugged, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Traffic was light.”

Aziraphale stopped dead in his tracks. “You drove?”

“No! No, I, uh…” _shit_ “I meant, foot traffic. Foot traffic was light.” He winced internally. Aziraphale gave him a considering look, and Crowley hurried to change the topic. “What do you think about some Vietnamese? Keen for some noodles?”

Aziraphale allowed himself to be distracted, and he locked up the shop behind them as they set out. “Oh, I haven’t had some good pho in nearly a decade!”

With that, they fell into a familiar rhythm. Alternating pleasant silence with idle chatter. They reminisced about the past, they projected about the future, they bemoaned the present. After all these years, they never got tired of it.

Over dinner, something occurred to Crowley.

“Do you… do you think old miracles we’ve done are still effective?”

Aziraphale took a long sip of his soup, considering. “I suppose it depends. I don’t think anything we’ve done has been undone. Hamlet is still a well-known work, for example. Why, did you have something you were working on?”

Crowley hummed, almost not wanting to say it. “Well, I’ve, uh… I’ve been miracle-ing away my rent for some time now.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes sternly.

Crowley raised his hands in defense. “The guy who owns the condos already has enough money! Too much, in fact. You could say I’m doing the right thing, not giving him any more. Lead us not into temptation, hey?”

The angel laughed, allowing his demon some honest trickery. He smiled at Crowley significantly for a moment before plunging in. “Would you like to move in with me, then? I own my building. Rent free. I hardly use the study, we could make it up nicely for you.”

Something contented and warm curled around his heart. Had Aziraphale had as much trouble this afternoon as Crowley had? Wondering about what the rest of his life would look like without his counterpart nearby? Or was this just a passing whim? Another instance of angelic selflessness? He tried to play it cool. “That could be nice. I don’t have much, I’d hardly need you to clear out your whole study. Could probably fit everything I own in one truckload.” His musings were cut short by a yawn. “Damn these _needy_ meat suits, I took a nap today! I shouldn’t be tired again already!”

“Is that a yes, my dear?” Aziraphale was still scanning his face intently. Crowley relaxed forward, leaning on the table. He tried very hard to keep a giddy smile off his face, and he almost managed it.

“I’d love to move in with you, Aziraphale. Let’s start right away.”


	5. all the fear and the fire of the end of the world

The next few days saw the gradual movement of most of Crowley’s things from his minimalist apartment on the other side of London, into Aziraphale’s flat above the bookshop. With Aziraphale behind the wheel of the Bentley, because while he was an anxious, overly-cautious mess in the driver’s seat, anything was better than Crowley’s driving.

Presently, they were standing together in Crowley’s bedroom and staring at the king bed, failing to come up with an idea as to how to get it downstairs and across the city. The idea of hiring movers hadn’t even occurred to them.

“Well, let’s just leave it. You’re more than welcome to sleep with me.” Aziraphale said primly, not hearing the implication. Crowley’s eyebrows rocketed up above his sunglasses, partially at the unintentional innuendo, but also partially because _really?_

“Really? You don’t mind? Like, every night? For the foreseeable future?” Crowley eyed the angel incredulously. Aziraphale only shrugged.

“I was comfortable enough the other night. Were you? Comfortable?” A vein of self-consciousness in his tone, and _No that wasn’t at all what I meant, angel._ “If you’d rather we keep trying, I’m sure humans must have figured out a way of-“.

“It’s fine! It’s fine. I was very… comfortable… in your bed. Thank you for the offer.” Crowley’s face was burning, he could feel it, so he exited the room quickly to start packing up some of his other things. Anything to get out of that room and away from Aziraphale’s gaze.

The moving process was going altogether very slowly. They kept having to stop and attend to their tragic human bodies, which they were not very good at at all. They were fumbling in the dark, trying to remember all the gritty details that humans seemed to know inherently: nutrition, hygiene, mental health. After forgetting to eat for 12 hours, they got into pointless squabbles and couldn’t understand their senseless emotional swings. They’d only just thought to buy toothbrushes on their third morning, after complaining to each other about the foul tastes in their mouths when they woke up. In some ways, these 6000 year old men were like newborn babies.

“I don’t understand why we’ve got to drink so much water. We just piss it all out anyway.” Crowley griped one night, when he was dizzy with dehydration and sitting on Aziraphale’s bed. “Sometimes, I’m thirsty and I’ve got to piss at _the same time_! What kind of sense does that make?!”

“Yes, these mortal forms are… quite shoddily constructed, it seems. Just poor planning, on a lot of fronts.” Aziraphale had been sweating quite a lot when they were carrying some of Crowley’s things upstairs, and he had started to smell a bit.

Crowley debated whether to announce as such, but the angel seemed to be ahead of him. “Have you ever taken a shower, Crowley?”

“Can’t say I have.” They’d both bathed before, but that was an indulgence, not a tending to a need. Crowley fondly remembered the days of the traditional Roman bathhouses. They made excellent clandestine meeting places, if you wanted to discuss something not meant to be overheard. Aziraphale and Crowley, when they were still at least pretending not to be in cahoots, bathed together often. These days, however, it was much easier to just miracle the grime off you, if the need arose. And celestials didn’t exactly sweat.

“Hm, neither have I. Funny, all the years I’ve lived here, the shower in the bathroom has never been touched.” He stood in the center of the room, fussing with his shirtsleeves. “I think I’ll give it a go.”

Crowley had flopped back onto the bed and was letting his eyes drift closed. He laid there, eyes shut, and listened to the sound of the water starting. The pattern of the stream changed when Aziraphale stepped in, and soon, he heard the angel humming quietly.

He loved how easily the human body was prone to sloth. Ever since becoming mortal, it felt like gravity pulled him just a tiny bit harder, and he rather liked succumbing to the pressure. He enjoyed the feeling of the bed supporting his weight for a few more minutes. Just listening.

The next thing he heard was a yelp and a loud thud. His eyes shot open and he bolted into the bathroom to see Aziraphale splayed out in the tub, seemingly unconscious.

“Fucking hell, angel!” He fell to his knees beside the tub, hands fluttering, unsure. He laid his hands on the angel’s chest, relieved to feel the regular rise and fall of his breathing. Crowley’s heart was pounding. Who could have thought that a fucking shower could be a dangerous activity for mortals?

God, they really were going to die someday. Crowley felt dread creeping through him, as if his insides were freezing. Aziraphale would die. Maybe not today, _dear God please not today_ , but someday soon. He had known this since the day of the hangover, but the reality of it hadn’t sunk in yet. Not until he saw his angel like this, hurt, unmoving…

Fuck fuck _fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😬


	6. be still my indelible friend, you are unbreaking

Fuck fuck  _fuck._

Focus, Crowley. What would a human do?

He ran for his phone, on the bedside table, and dialed 999 on his way back into the bathroom. Aziraphale remained unconscious, and Crowley saw a bit of red trickling from the back of his head. His stomach lurched.

“999 what is your emergency?”

“I need an ambulance, he fell in the shower, he’s unconscious.” His breathing was ragged as he told the operator their address. She assured him that a team would be responding within minutes. He reached to turn the water off and tried not to panic in the meantime. Some distant part of his brain registered that Aziraphale was naked. He hardly would have paid it any mind, except that the angel would be mortified to learn that Crowley let him leave the house that way. He went to look for something to bundle Aziraphale up in. At the very least, it was something to do with his hands. If he had a task for them, maybe they wouldn’t shake so much.

The EMTs arrived and retrieved Aziraphale, carrying him downstairs on a stretcher. Crowley followed them closely, hopping into the back of the ambulance beside Aziraphale’s prone form. He seemed to be starting to stir as EMTs buzzed around him, checking his vitals.

“Hnnnggg… Crowley?”

“I’m here, angel. I’m here.” He took Aziraphale’s hand and squeezed. He felt a tiny squeeze in return. He was grateful he had managed to grab his sunglasses as he tried to blink away tears. Aziraphale passed out again, but Crowley held on to his hand, rubbing his thumb across the angel’s knuckles. This drive would have been much faster if he was behind the wheel of his Bentley, he groused to himself. But, then again, without demonic intervention, that drive would also likely have been fatal. Damn Aziraphale for being right all the time.

Once at the hospital, the EMTs transferred Aziraphale to a gurney and passed him off to a team of nurses. They wheeled him through a set of double doors and told Crowley, very kindly, that he could not come with them. They said something about an MRI, but Crowley honestly didn’t know what that meant.

“I don’t want him out of my sight.” He stood up to his full height and snarled. He was a 6000 year old demon, he would not allow these puny humans to spirit away his angel, possibly never to be seen again.

“Sir, we’ll bring him back straight away. It’s just a test to ensure there’s no bleeding in the brain. 20 minutes, tops.”

“… bleeding? In the brain?” Before he could make another demonic show of force – purely a show, now, considering – they had taken Aziraphale away and left him to collapse into a seat in the waiting area.

“I didn’t even know brains could bleed.” He said to no one in particular. That mental image would haunt Crowley for years. How did humans move through the world without wrapping themselves up in bubble wrap? Every little thing they did, every step they took, could be their last.

There were a few other people sitting in the waiting area. An older couple sat holding hands, weeping softly. A man dozed in a chair in the corner. There was a television in the room playing an endless loop of soothing nature footage that no one was watching. Crowley paid it all no mind. His thoughts were entirely consumed by his angel.

An older nurse came over, alone, and smiled at him gently.

“Hello, sir, I’m here to get some information about the patient. What is his name?” She looked at him expectantly over the top of a clipboard

“Ezra Fell.” It was the name the angel used in his business dealings.

“Birthdate, if you know it?”

“Uhhh…” He did know it, but he couldn’t very well say it. He plucked a believable number out of the sky. “He’s 45.”

“And your name, sir?”

“Anthony Crowley.”

“Relationship?”

“Sorry?”

“What is your relationship to the patient?”

Crowley balked for a minute. He couldn’t quite tell her that they were cosmically destined for each other in a way that transcended mortal descriptors. Halves of a whole, two sides of a coin, joined together for 6000 years. He also balked because, well, they hadn’t actually ever defined their relationship. They were best friends, they’d both said as much, and now they lived together, and there was love. He supposed that constituted a relationship, in the mortal use of the word.

“Relationship. Yeah, erm. We’re, uh. He’s my… partner.”

“Very good, sir” she smiled knowingly. “Any medical history we should know about? Cancers, heart conditions, allergies?”

He had to stop himself rolling his eyes. “Spotless. He’s been healthy as a horse his whole life.”

“And his parents, anything congenital?”

Crowley grimaced and shook his head. “Nothing in the family.” No family to speak of, actually. Unbidden, the faces of Michael and Gabriel sprung to mind, and he couldn’t help but sneer. Bit of heart disease might serve them right. He’d never forget the way Gabriel spoke to Aziraphale in heaven, when it was actually Crowley masquerading as the angel.

The nurse asked him a few other questions about the accident before wandering back to her station. Time flowed in a way that Crowley didn’t quite understand for a bit, and then she tottered back over.

“They’ve brought him into room 155. It’s just down the hall. You can go see him.”

He was off like a shot. He rounded the corner and walked into the room, his eyes landing on Aziraphale immediately. He was still asleep, but now he was hooked up to some wires and machines. There was a doctor standing at the foot of the hospital bed, writing up a chart. They had long, dark hair, and big, round spectacles. When he entered, they looked up and smiled at him.

“Mr. Crowley. My name is Dr. Samuels. I just had a look at your husband’s MRI and there’s no internal bleeding.” They smiled, waiting for relief to appear on the demon’s face. It did not, so they continued. “He seems to have a mild concussion, and there’s a wound on the back of his head that we had to stitch up, but with some time to rest, he’ll be completely fine.”

Crowley let out a long breath that he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. _He’ll be fine_. He crossed the room to sit beside Aziraphale, briefly cupping his cheek. “What’s a concussion?” He was sure he’d heard of them – he remembered a gang of demons who created the pro sports industry throwing the word around – but that didn’t mean he knew what to expect.

The doctor quirked an eyebrow. “It’s what happens when the brain hits the wall of the skull, it gets a little bruise. The brain is very complicated, so everyone reacts differently. Your husband might become very sensitive to lights and sounds, he might become easily confused, he might forget specific details, but all of those things are temporary. For someone of his age, he should be back to normal in a couple weeks.”

Crowley nodded. After a minute’s delay, it occurred to him that the doctor had referred to Aziraphale as his husband. While not technically true, it made something in him twist hungrily. He had always been generally dismissive of the idea of matrimony between humans. He remembered the days when it was purely a business deal, men selling their daughters like so much breeding cattle. The notion of marrying for love was relatively new, in human history, and Crowley knew exactly how often “till death do us part” actually worked out to be true. It was a pathetic percentage, honestly. But if anyone could take those vows and truly mean them, it was certainly the two of them. Through sickness and in health? Been there. For richer or for poorer? Done that. Till death do us part? Why, that was rather the whole point.

He was shaken from his musings when Aziraphale’s head lolled to the side, eyes cloudy and searching. They landed on Crowley, and relief washed across his face.

“Hello, my dear.” His speech was a bit slurred, but he was smiling.

“How are you feeling?” Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand in both of his own.

“Oh, wonderful. I don’t know what they’ve given me but it feels like that opium we shared in Portugal in the 1500s.” Crowley shot a nervous look at the doctor, but they simply laughed.

“As you can see, he’s a bit loopy. We’ve got him on a low-grade pain killer. We’d like to keep him overnight for observation, but if you have any concerns at all, just call.” They pointed to the big red button on the side of the hospital bed.

Crowley thanked them as they left without taking his eyes off his angel. He lifted Aziraphale’s hand to his lips. “Aziraphale, you scared the shit out of me. I thought for a moment I’d lose you. I don’t know what I’d have done. I don’t know what I _will_ do when it’s… well, when…” he choked on the end of that sentiment, his thoughts reeling away from the subject on instinct.

Aziraphale smiled apologetically, still looking quite distant. “I’m sorry for scaring you, my dear. Showering is a bit more of a challenge than I’d have imagined.”

Crowley chuckled. “Yeah, dangerous terrain, bathtubs.”

Aziraphale’s eyes unfocused, his gaze drifting towards the lights above them. “Maybe we ought to shower together. Safer that way.”

Crowley wondered how much of this conversation Aziraphale would remember. With another chuckle he said, “Safety in numbers.” He pressed another kiss to the angel’s hand, before leaning his forehead against it. “I love you, angel.”

Aziraphale smiled without looking away from the ceiling. “I know, my dear.”

Aziraphale dozed fitfully through the night, and after a few hours of just watching over his angel, Crowley eventually climbed into the hospital bed to doze for a bit, himself. He plastered himself to Aziraphale’s side, careful not to jostle any wires, and pressed a kiss to his temple. The beeping of the monitor measured Aziraphale’s heartbeat, and Crowley drifted off to the continued reassurance that provided.

_He’ll be okay. He’ll be fine. We’re okay._


	7. freshly disowned in some frozen devotion

The first few days after their night at the hospital, Crowley drove Aziraphale absolutely mad with his doting. Crowley brought Aziraphale his meals in bed. He brought whichever books he requested, and then when he noticed the angel wincing while reading, Crowley insisted on reading them aloud to him. Aziraphale need only mention discomfort at a bright light or a loud sound, and Crowley would hurry to shut the lights or close the windows. After a few days of sheer coddling, Aziraphale had to put his foot down.

“Crowley, I am walking to the _kitchen._ It’s not exactly a hike. I can nearly see the kettle from here!”

“All the more reason to let me fix the tea for you! Just keep resting, I’ll take care of everything.”

“Crowley, if I have to spend another moment in this bed doing nothing, I swear to God-”

“Oi, don’t bring Her into this! She’d agree with me!”

Aziraphale fixed Crowley with a searing glare as he purposefully flipped back the covers and stormed into the kitchen. Crowley hissed but let him pass, even if he hovered behind the angel the whole time, anxiously waiting for him to stumble or trip.

For all his insistence, however, Aziraphale did allow the demon to help him into and out of the shower – just in case.

Showering together was a bit different from bathing together. It was more domestic, in the way that showering was definitively a chore, whereas bathing was a pleasure. It was the difference between going to the grocery store versus going out to a restaurant. The plainness lends the intimacy.

After the two week doctor ordered recovery period – which Crowley strictly enforced – Aziraphale was ship-shape. The pair was finally able to finish moving all Crowley’s belongings into the flat.

All told, not much changed about the place. Crowley occupied half of the closet in the bedroom, one of the toothbrush holders in the bathroom, and every flat surface that he could possibly populate with luscious houseplants. Other than that, Crowley didn’t have many worldly possessions. He owned exactly 0 kitchenware items, as he had never been much for eating. He thought about bringing the statue in his hall depicting a demon and an angel wrestling, but looking at it with human eyes, he wasn’t quite sure they actually were wrestling, and that line of thinking made him blush.

The thing that they don’t tell you about using divine intervention to move all around the world for 6000 years, is that, if you ever became suddenly unable to do that, moving was going to be _fucking_ hard. Moving is already fucking hard for the average mortal, and most of them are at least familiar with the motions of putting things into boxes and carrying them around. Celestial beings? Not so much.

Aziraphale woke up the next morning, sat up to stretch his arms above his head, and immediately regretted it. All the muscles in his back felt like bungee rope, pulling tightly against each other. He tried to roll his neck out, to much the same effect, and he groaned with discomfort. He pressed a hand to whatever tender parts of his neck that he could reach without straining his tired shoulders.

Crowley stirred but did not lift his head. His voice was muffled as he spoke into the pillow, “s’wrong?”

Aziraphale let his hands fall in defeat. One hand landed on Crowley’s hip, and he traced slow circles onto the skin there absentmindedly. “I think my corporeal vessel is unhappy with me, about yesterday’s events.” Spending two weeks lazing around and then suddenly helping your mate move would do that to a person.

Crowley snuffled and turned his head toward Aziraphale, opening one squinting eye. “Sore?” He cracked a yawn.

Aziraphale nodded, _humph_ -ing unhappily.

“Lie back down.” Crowley slid backwards on the bed like a coiled cobra before gently navigating Aziraphale to lie on his stomach. Aziraphale tried to look over his shoulder but the angle was hell on his neck, so he simply planted his face into the plush of the pillow. He trusted Crowley.

Aziraphale felt Crowley’s weight across his hips as the demon straddled him. Before he could comment that _now is really not the time for –_ he felt Crowley’s deft fingertips press into the meat of his trapezius muscles. He moaned long and low, enjoying the pressure.

“Feels nice, angel?” Crowley purred, and then chuckled quietly when Aziraphale could only manage another contented moan in response.

He took his time, working his fingertips from the upper area of the neck, down across the shoulders, briefly working each bicep, and then knuckling down into the muscles on either side of Aziraphale’s spine. The angel continued to groan with each new pain that Crowley relieved.

After working over Aziraphale’s entire back, Crowley pressed his fingers under the angel’s scapula. The angel tensed in response to being touched in such a sensitive spot. If it had been a month ago, Crowley’s ministrations would have brought out Aziraphale’s wings. He lovingly rubbed that spot for another few minutes before he noticed Aziraphale whimpering – and not in a good way.

“Angel?” He heard another sharp intake of breath that was certainly not pleasant, so he dismounted and helped Aziraphale roll over. His eyes were red and wet, his cheeks damp with tears.

“Oh, _angel.”_ Crowley laid down beside him and bundled him into his arms. He rocked them both gently while Aziraphale continued to snivel. “What’s wrong?”

“I _miss_ them, Crowley.”

Crowley made a quizzical face. “Your wings? You’ve hardly brought them out in the last thousand years.” Sometimes, Crowley entirely forgot he had wings. He noticed their absence for the first time now, the weight of his wings staying carefully tucked into the ethereal plane was no longer pressing into his shoulders. He was almost glad for it.

“Angel wings are special, Crowley. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” There was no malice in his tone, but the words still stung. Crowley was tempted to remind him that he had been an angel once too, but he had to admit to himself that it was hard to remember what it felt like. It wasn’t as if Falling from Grace was something you easily forgot, but it was something one would work very hard to repress. Memories from before Eden were carefully locked away in a place in his mind he’d rather not tread. “My wings were a part of my divine being. Attached to the part of me that was starstuff and light and love incarnate. I was an angel. I was divine. And now… well, they’re gone. That’s all _gone.”_ His voice broke on the final word as he began to sob again. “I’ve been damned and I can never go back.”

Crowley felt like he swallowed an icicle. “… go back?”

All of the sudden, every interaction they’d ever had was cast in a new light. He had always assumed that he and Aziraphale were on the same wavelength: wanting each other, loving each other, but never being allowed to indulge. Avoiding contact for years at a time out of fear of discovery, not indifference. But suddenly, Crowley imagined himself in the angel’s shoes. A well-respected principality, befriending a lower demon. Having an immortal friend would have been a pleasant diversion, but you would never choose them over your status in heaven. Aziraphale’s final defiance of heaven had been to save the humans – which, in a way, was his original heaven-sent purpose. Crowley just happened to be there. His stomach turned with humiliation when he thought of all his failed attempts to get the angel to leave with him, as if he would’ve ever given up his station for Crowley _._ He supposed it was no coincidence that Aziraphale had been unwilling to accept him fully until after they had been mortalized. Once the Holy Host was gone from him, Aziraphale had turned to his next best option, like accepting a consolation prize.

_There is no arrangement._

_We’re not friends._

_I don’t even like you._

Crowley mentally kicked himself for not seeing it earlier. He had always been, and likely would always be, a fallback option. The angel was his whole world, his best friend, and what was he to him? A pet. An accessory. A convenient pastime.

What disgusted him the most, though, was that it didn’t make Crowley love him any less. It didn’t stop him holding the angel, rocking and shushing and wiping his tears. It didn’t stop his heart aching to see the man in pain.

A single tear rolled down Crowley’s cheek. Aziraphale, face still tucked into his neck, didn’t see.


	8. whatever here that's left of me is yours

Aziraphale had gotten rather into the habit of eating, showering, and sleeping with Crowley. Their first few nights sharing a bed together, they had decidedly fallen asleep on Their Own Sides of the bed, even if they kept waking up entangled. Obviously Crowley had been craving more contact, but he always let Aziraphale set their pace. They’d been co-sleeping for about a week before Aziraphale crossed the divide. Just with a hand, to start. They fell asleep just holding hands. The next night, all bets were off. They climbed into bed as normal and the angel promptly nestled himself into the curve of Crowley’s form, back flush against the demon’s front. It was as if Aziraphale needed to prove something to himself. If they hadn’t been smote for sleeping while holding hands, then heaven certainly wouldn’t notice if they spooned.

Considering that, Aziraphale noticed almost immediately when Crowley started to pull back minutely. Their hands would brush on accident, and Crowley would still. Not retreat, but not lean into the contact as he had come to expect. They still shared a bed every night, but suddenly Crowley started leaving a few inches between them, curling on his back to face away from Aziraphale. Their conversations weren’t necessarily stilted, but they glittered less than usual. Aziraphale would sometimes look up from his book and catch the demon watching him, looking morose.

Aziraphale tried to maintain an air of normalcy, but after a few days, his nerves had started to fray. What if, now that Crowley had him at his fingertips, he realized he didn’t want Aziraphale after all? What if all the demon ever enjoyed about him was their endless game of cat-and-mouse, and now the game was won and the demon was bored.

These thoughts were eating at the angel, late at night, while he lie awake staring at the ceiling. He could tell from the pattern of Crowley’s breathing that he was also lying awake, too tied up in whatever thoughts had dulled his spark for the past few days.

_No time like the present._

“Crowley?”

He didn’t respond immediately, as if he was weighing the merits of continuing to feign sleep. A full ten seconds ticked by before he rolled over to look at Aziraphale. His brown eyes shone with reflected moonlight, and Aziraphale was reminded yet again of the short time they had left together. He did not speak.

“You’ve been … distant … for a few days. Is everything alright?”

A half shrug. “ s’alright as it can be, I spose.”

 _What on Earth is_ that _supposed to mean?_

Aziraphale decided to resolve his most pressing fear first. “Do you… still love me?”

Crowley made a face like he’d been kicked in the stomach. “Couldn’t stop if I tried. And I’ll have you know, I did try once, for a few centuries. No use.”

While that was technically the answer Aziraphale had hoped for, the delivery made him all the more anxious. “Well, then _what_ is- why- do you regret moving in together?” God, if only the demon would just _talk_ to him.

Crowley turned onto his back, eyes on the ceiling. “I’m not the one with regrets.” His voice was dry, grating. Resentful.

“What does that mean?!” Aziraphale pulled himself up to sitting. Crowley shot up to meet him. His dark eyes blazed, regaining some semblance of the hellish yellow Aziraphale was so familiar with.

“What you said, the other night, about wishing you could go back. You want your wings back, you want to be an angel again. But you can’t, because you’re damned to this shit life you’ve got to spend with me. We made choices, and _I’m_ the lot you’ve been dealt because of them, and it’s not as good _– I’m_ not as good.” He huffed a few angry breaths before deflating. “How could I be?” He blinked hard a few times before dragging his hands through his hair, hiding his face in the cage of his arms.

Aziraphale’s heart wrenched. _Oh._

The poor dear had gotten it all wrong. How could he be so stupid? So incredibly clever and so stupid.

He assumed a placating tone and rested a hand on Crowley’s back. “Do you remember your own Fall, Crowley?”

Sidestepping that question, thank you very much, “You haven’t Fallen with a capital F, Aziraphale.” His face remained hidden, but his voice was thick and wet.

“Well, not in the traditional way. But the change between being an angel and suddenly Not being an angel is the crux of it. I’ve been cast out of heaven. I’ve lost my connection with the Host. Of course I miss it, of course I ache for it. It is, undeniably, a fall. But” He cupped a hand under Crowley’s chin and lifted it so that their eyes met, rubbing a thumb across his damp cheek. “my dear friend, I am so _blessed_ to have you to catch me. I very definitely do _not_ regret the course of events that led us to this point. I would trade a thousand pairs of angel wings for you.”

Crowley shook his head, rejecting the idea. His face was contorted in that uniquely human way when someone is choking so hard on a sob that will not be shaken loose.

“I mean it. I truly do. Just because my soul is sore where my wings used to be, does not make that any less true. Oh, my beautiful, compassionate, steadfast Crowley. I can’t believe that you can’t see what you mean to me.”

Crowley was weeping freely now. He keened and rocked forward, such that their foreheads and noses touched.

“Aziraphale, _please_ , say that you love me.”

Aziraphale drew in a heavy breath, held it for a few long seconds, and hissed it out. He _hated_ himself for being unable to say it. It was true, it was patently undeniably true. But on some level, Aziraphale was convinced that saying it aloud would break the spell they’d been under. Gabriel would come crashing in from above, Beelzebub from below, and they’d have no more little magic tricks to save them. “Crowley, I – you must know.”

“I need to _hear_ it _,_ Aziraphale.” His voice was high, needling. Aziraphale had never seen him in such a state, and it was his fault. He choked on his guilt. It made his eyes water.

“I need your faith for just a bit longer, my dear. I’m _so sorry._ ”

Crowley was wracked by another sob.

“Please, Crowley, _please._ A little faith. Just a little bit longer.” Aziraphale lifted his left hand to mirror his right, holding Crowley’s head steady. A broken sigh rattled out of the demon.

“I’ll try. I love you so much, Aziraphale. I’ll try.”

Aziraphale cracked a small smile. Gently tipping his head, he nuzzled against Crowley’s nose. He let their breath mingle just for a moment before he pressed his lips to Crowley’s. Unmoving, he maintained firm pressure until the demon sagged into the kiss.

They had never kissed like this before. They had shared casual kisses on hands and foreheads, often initiated by Crowley, but this kiss. With their tear-streaked faces and their tragic human bodies and their aching hearts –

It was heaven.


	9. it's the heaven of the human spirit ringing

The next morning, Crowley awoke to the smell of bacon wafting from the kitchen. Ever since eating had become a mandatory activity, he had come to love the stuff, but Aziraphale detested it. There were so many wonderfully complex recipes in the world, with flavors and textures carefully balanced in a show of human ingenuity, he would not deign to eat a fatty cut of meat that had been salted more heavily than a summoning circle. He never failed to remind Crowley that less than 500 years ago, bacon was a peasant’s cut. Crowley would only shrug and order another helping. The stuff was fucking delicious.

Crowley blearily stumbled into the kitchen to find Aziraphale wearing an apron, leaned over a frying pan. He turned and gave Crowley an earnest smile. “Good morning, my dear. I’ve made your favorite.” _I do love you, I do._

Crowley’s face melted from confusion to understanding. “Thanks, angel.” _I know. I love you, too._

They did not discuss the previous night. Not out loud, at least. However, the angel would go out of his way to _show_ Crowley how loved he was, even if he couldn’t say it yet. A glass of water appearing at Crowley’s elbow when he’d forgotten about hydration again. Aziraphale pressing kisses to Crowley’s forehead while he brushed the tangles out of the demon’s lengthening hair. Tickets to the planetarium for a special showing on Alpha Centauri. Declarations of love, unspoken but not unheard. It was enough for Crowley, for now.

They fell into a comfortable routine. During the days, Aziraphale worked in the bookshop. Crowley tried his best to be a nuisance in those hours, rearranging things and getting in Aziraphale’s way, but his angel only ever seemed amused by his antics rather than inconvenienced. The demon Crowley might have been offended that his devilish tricks held no real weight anymore, but the human Crowley couldn’t bring himself to mind. Their nights were filled with activity; they dined out, went to the theater, the opera, the ballet. After a while, they quite got the hang of the mechanics of being human. Eating, drinking, sleeping, it all started to come easily to them. They started and ended each day wrapped in each other’s arms. They found themselves to be quite happy.

It didn’t take long, however, for the domestic bliss to chafe against Crowley’s demonic sensibilities. He needed a change of pace.

“Let’s go to Paris.” They were lying together in bed at the end of the day, Aziraphale’s head tucked into Crowley’s neck, Crowley’s fingers carding through Aziraphale’s white-blonde hair.

“Paris?” Aziraphale hummed sleepily.

“Yeah, why not? Haven’t had some decent crepes in a few decades, have you?” Crowley felt, more than heard, a small chuckle from the angel. He pressed a kiss into his curls.

“Mmmalright. Let’s go tomorrow, shall we? My turn to buy lunch.”

“I think it’s actually my turn, angel.” But Aziraphale only snored in response.

Well, that sorted that. They would go to Paris tomorrow.

-

Ezra Fell and Anthony Crowley left for the airport first thing in the morning, forged passports in hand, both of them excited to have a mission. Even if it was just a lunch date, it was somewhere to be going, something to do.

Over their crepes, Aziraphale casually mentioned how dreadfully long it had been since he’d been to Greece. Crowley, wearing a wicked grin, had his phone out and the tickets booked in minutes.

And so began a whirlwind world tour for the new mortals. They visited their favorite cities, they explored new ones, they toured historical ruins that used to be their favorite cities. Tokyo, New York, Babylon, Rome. Once they got into the flow of constant travel and pleasantly busy days, they found themselves not quite eager to return to London. They spent almost a full year on the move before they decided they should pop back home, at least to check on the bookshop and yell at the houseplants. They stayed for barely a week before some new and exciting locale caught their attention.

The world was their oyster. And they had always loved oysters.


	10. would things be easier if there was a right way? honey, there is no right way

Aziraphale groaned loudly and let his head fall forward against his suitcase. He banged his head against it three times before looking back up, hoping he’d read the board wrong.

Nope. There it was in flashing yellow letters.

**Flight ET137: Delayed 90 minutes.**

Granted, 90 minutes doesn’t sound like much, but they had already sat through a 4 hour scheduled layover in the Addis Ababa airport, after taking a 14 hour flight across the Atlantic to get here, and they had a 6 hour flight to Cape Town ahead of them. The additional hour and a half would be torture.

Crowley laid a consoling hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. While he was certainly unhappy with the delay, Crowley had at least managed to get some shut-eye on the flight over, and would likely be able to drop off to sleep again once they took off. Aziraphale, on the other hand, had never been able to sleep on planes. Something about the knowledge that your body was hundreds of kilometers above the ground, hurtling through the air at unprecedented speeds, kept him awake. Not that he was a nervous flyer, he had full faith in human technology. He wasn’t afraid of crashing, he just… couldn’t let himself doze off.

All of that is to say that Aziraphale was _fucking_ exhausted, and seeing the delay alert pop up on the board at their gate felt like a death bell tolling.

With a despondent sigh, he said “I’m going to find a restroom.” He stood and surveyed their surroundings. The gate area quite literally looked like a cement block. They were in a long, wide hallway with precious few benches, people sitting and laying on the floor in groups. No restaurants or private lounges in sight. Aziraphale scoffed to himself. This airport was in desperate need of a remake.

Finally his eyes alighted on the universal sign for the restroom, except the little stick figure that represented “gents” had a left-facing arrow underneath it, and the stick figure that represented “ladies” had a right-facing arrow.

_Strange that they aren’t right next to each other, but honestly considering the state of this airport, unsurprising._

“Ah, dear, am I? Are we…?” Aziraphale squinted at the signage, blanking for a moment on which way he normally went. Although he had been assigned (and now, consigned to) a male human body, he had never internalized the human concept of gender. Remembering which public restroom he was supposed to use was like remembering which side of the road to drive on in a new country.

Crowley looked up from his phone and craned his neck to try to see what was giving Aziraphale pause. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he turned back to the angel, one eyebrow raised above the gold rim of dark sunglasses.

“It’s gents, right? I’m a gent?” Aziraphale watched Crowley’s lips curl up in a bemused smirk.

“Why are you asking me? I don’t know, Aziraphale, _are_ you a gent?”

Aziraphale flapped a hand at the demon. “Oh come now, you know what I mean. Of course I’m not a gentleman, I’m not an _anything._ I’m just very tired and I forgot for a moment which restroom I’m supposed to use in public.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes and muttered a borderline fond “ _Foul fiend”_ before marching off to the left. He figured if he got over there and saw a lot of feminine presenting people going in and out of the men’s restroom, he’d notice and reroute.

When he returned to Crowley’s side, the demon seemed lost in thought. Aziraphale said nothing, letting him churn through his thoughts in his own time.

“You’re not anything?” Crowley repeated, questioning.

Aziraphale shrugged. “Well, I am certainly something: a human, a bookseller, although maybe _seller_ is a stretch. I’m a foodie, as the kids are saying-“

“But, like, you don’t have any… gender?” Crowley regarded him heavily from behind his shades.

“Of course not! Why would I have a gender? What ever would I do with it?” Aziraphale spluttered for a moment before catching the quirk of Crowley’s eyebrows. “Why, do _you_ have a gender?”

“ _A_ gender? As in just one? Hell no. I’ve got _loads_ of the stuff, Aziraphale. I _love_ gender. There’s so many fun things about it you can play with. Masculinity, femininity, androgyny, blurring those lines. Being a woman and presenting masculine. Being a man and presenting feminine. Chaotic mash ups of presentation. You know, once, I was at a New Years Eve party, and I happened to be a man at the time, and this adorable twink came up and kissed me at midnight. Later, I found out it was a butch lesbian who thought I was a lesbian!” Crowley leaned back, smiling fondly at the memory. He caught Aziraphale’s confused gaze and scoffed. “C’mon now, you’ve seen me as a woman before.”

“What, as Nanny Ashtoreth? I assumed that was a disguise!”

“Well, technically she was a disguise, but the fact that I picked a feminine disguise was informed by the fact that I was actually a woman, at the time. Even before the antichrist was born, actually.” Crowley scowled at Aziraphale. “Did you think I just picked a woman because it was a nanny job? Men can be nannies, Aziraphale. Women aren’t inherently better with kids than men are. Don’t be regressive.”

Aziraphale spluttered for another moment. “I, well, of course, you’re right. I just can’t believe I hadn’t noticed. Was there any other time you were… well, _something?”_

Crowley rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “I’m always _something,_ angel. I’m a man right now. ‘s what I am most of the time. Although I was a woman most of the time in Mesopotamia, during that whole business with Noah, and then again with Jesus. Hmm… I think in the 1500s I was a bit of both. In the 1980’s I was something else entirely…” Crowley trailed off, shrugging.

“How do you know?” Aziraphale asked quietly. “You say you were a woman then and a man now and something else entirely sometimes… how can you tell? What does it feel like?” His blue eyes were searching.

Crowley made a series of noncommittal noises and hand gestures. “It’s… well… it’s hard to describe, angel. You say you’re not a man, right? You’re not _anything._ So if I were to call you a man right now, that would feel… a bit off, right? Likewise for the other way. If someone came over here and addressed you as ‘ma’am’, it’d be weird, right?” He waited for Aziraphale to nod before continuing. “That’s like the top layer of it. For me, it feels really right when I, or anybody, refers to me with the gendered language that matches how I feel at the time. Over the past six millennia, I’ve gotten pretty good at feeling out how I’m going to be identifying for the next window of time, but it comes and goes. Even I don’t really understand it, not enough to make it make sense for you.”

Aziraphale hummed and thought it over for a few minutes. Crowley could see the gears turning behind his eyes.

“I can’t say I relate to any of that. As you say, when people address me as a man, or with gendered language in keeping with their assumption, it registers to me that they are not technically correct but it doesn’t inspire any real feeling of wrongness in me. I can’t imagine a way for someone to refer to me that would inspire feelings of rightness.”

“What about gender neutral language? Listen to this: ‘That’s Aziraphale. _They_ are my best friend and _they_ collect old books by _their_ favorite authors in _their_ bookshop in Soho’. Like that any better?”

Aziraphale wobbled his head side to side, considering. “I think it’s all quite the same to me. Humans have been using ‘he’ and ‘him’ to refer to me for ages, hearing ‘they’ and ‘them’ just sounds… unfamiliar, I suppose.”

Crowley reached over and squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. “Well that’s alright. You don’t need to have a gender to use whatever pronouns you like. I’ll keep using the he/him series.”

Aziraphale smiled serenely. “That sounds just fine. And please, do tell me when you, uh, start being something other than a man. I’d hate to address you incorrectly, but I’m afraid I just might not notice.”

Crowley laughed and leaned over to press a kiss to the angel’s cheek. “I’ll keep you posted.”


	11. fell in love with the fire long ago

The morning began like any other. They woke up in a tangle of limbs, in a bed that was not their own. It took Crowley a few fuzzy moments to remember where they were. A cool breeze lofted through the open balcony, smelling of cherry blossom, wild thyme, and earth remembering what sunlight feels like in the springtime.

 _Ah yes. Barcelona._ They’d just entered the country last night, arriving very late to their hotel and falling right down to sleep.

Aziraphale stirred, always able to sense when Crowley awoke, even though the demon was careful never to jostle him. He nuzzled into Crowley’s neck and hummed. “Morning, my dear.” His voice was thick with sleep, as it always was first thing in the morning, and it made Crowley’s heart skip, as it always did.

He raised a hand to play with Aziraphale’s curls. “Morning, luv.” He felt the angel press a kiss to his neck.

He’d used that pet name for Aziraphale on accident the first time, a few months back, and before he could kick himself for letting it slip, the angel bombarded him with kisses. Ever since, Crowley had been peppering it into his vocabulary more and more.

They laid like that for at least another hour, just basking in the closeness. Crowley didn’t think he could ever tire of holding his angel. It could be the only thing he did for the rest of his short mortal life and he’d have no regrets.

Unfortunately, his mortal life would become very short indeed if he didn’t get up and eat something soon.

They roused themselves to go out for a late breakfast – more of a lunch, actually – at a beautiful waterfront restaurant. It was a bit touristy for Crowley’s liking, but neither of them had been to Spain in (literal) ages, so that’s essentially what they were: normal human tourists.

“What would you like to do today?” Crowley asked partway through the meal. He had a few ideas based on what he’d read about the city, but he’d be content to do anything with Aziraphale.

The angel’s eyes flitted downward. An old, nervous tick. Crowley raised one eyebrow, letting the angel know it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“You don’t have to accompany me, if you don’t want to, but…” Aziraphale worried his lip for a moment. Crowley leaned forward, waiting. Blue eyes flickered between Crowley’s face and his own hands, worrying the fabric of his waistcoat. “I’d rather like to see La Sagrada Familia.”

Crowley sagged back into his seat with relief and continued eating. “Goodness, angel, you had me nervous you wanted to do something awful like … I dunno, go to an amateur prestidigitator convention. Of course I’ll go with you. I’d rather like to see it too. Sposed to be the most beautiful church in the world.”

Aziraphale’s eyes bugged. “You… would go to a church with me? _Inside?_ ”

Crowley shrugged casually and spoke around a mouthful of paella. “Don’t look so shocked. Wouldn’t be the first time.” He watched Aziraphale’s face soften, remembering the Blitz. He swallowed his food before continuing “Only this time, I won’t have to play hot feet. Might even be nice to chat with the Holy Landlady like normal people do, for a change.”

Aziraphale scoffed softly. “Well, I’ll be damned. Crowley, the serpent of Eden, wants to go to church and pray.”

Crowley shook his head and continued eating. “Not a serpent anymore, luv. Just another insignificant human soul.”

Aziraphale nodded and returned to his food. His eyebrows were furrowed in thought. Crowley let him stew, knowing he had something to say but not the words to say it with.

They finished their meal and decided to walk right to the church. It wasn’t far, and it was a lovely spring day.

They entered the square and Aziraphale let slip a small “Oh.” The church was beautiful, with towering spires and gilded arches and glittering windows. They bought tickets – _whose idea was it to charge admission to a church, your side or mine? Either way, doesn’t seem to make much sense –_ and waited in line to enter. Once inside, they were both struck dumb by the beauty of it. Columns that extended up like trees, meeting the roof in an optical illusion that dazzled their mortal eyes. Sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows, creating kaleidoscopic washes of color on every wall. They wandered around in silence, hand in hand, taking it all in.

Crowley was squinting upwards, trying to make sense of the structure of the ceiling, when Aziraphale leveled a significant gaze at him. Crowley, a fallen angel, a demon of hell, stood here in a church and felt no pain at the divinity. He could probably anoint himself with holy water and be fine.

“We really are, aren’t we? Human?” Aziraphale finally spoke, his voice full of wonder.

“Mhm, just part of the flock now. Fallible, fragile, ephemeral mortals.” Crowley’s tone was light, almost celebratory. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to aging, or dying, and he couldn’t bear to think of Aziraphale aging and d-. Aging. But it was worth enjoying the fact that he’d likely never have to report to Beelzebub or any of their lot again. He was free. They both were, and for the moment at least, they were healthy and virile and wandering around in Barcelona. Why dwell on the negative?

Aziraphale seemed to finally be coming around to his way of thinking. He began to giggle, looking manic.

“We’re human. We’re two humans on the planet Earth and nothing more.” A giddy smile spread across his face and he shuddered out a sigh of relief. All of the tension left his shoulders, which had never happened in all the 6000 years that Crowley had known him. Aziraphale always had his back upright, as if imperfect posture could cause him to Fall from Grace. Even in sleep, even when drunk, Crowley had never seen him so loose. So free.

His blue eyes sparkled and he reached out with both hands to take Crowley’s. He leveled the demon with a heavy gaze, blue eyes glittering in the filtered light.

“I love you. I’ve loved you from the very start, my dearest. Oh, I love you so much, Crowley, I love you IloveyouIloveyou.”

Crowley laughed warmly and leaned down to kiss his beloved. Aziraphale’s arms wound easily around Crowley’s waist for support as Crowley dipped him slightly.

Crowley pulled back and drank in Aziraphale’s flushed features and giddy smile. This smile said, ‘we’re really safe’ and ‘finally’ and, as with all the other smiles he’d been bestowing on Crowley for the last 6000 years, ‘I love you’.

 _“_ I know, angel. I know.”


	12. I need to be youthfully felt, 'cause God I've never felt young

They wound up in Berlin that fall. Neither of them could remember whose idea it had been to come to Berlin – they simply wound up there.

One night, they were walking hand in hand back to their hotel after a late dinner, when they passed a pulsing nightclub. Even in the dead of night, the line to be admitted wound all the way around the block. Young people in all sorts of dress hung off one another, obviously preemptively drunk.

Crowley adopted an overly posh English accent. “What do you think, old boy. Fancy a spot of clubbing?”

Aziraphale snorted. “My dear, I think I was _born_ too old for that sort of thing.”

Crowley chuckled. “Yeah, I never much saw the appeal either.” They rounded the corner, still walking leisurely and enjoying the autumn chill. They passed a dark alley behind the club, and Aziraphale thought he heard a whimper. He stopped and peered into the darkness with concern, squeezing Crowley’s hand.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust, but soon he could make out two figures. One person had the other pinned against the wall, and he feared the worst for a moment. But as he continued to look, he could make out the angle of arms and the roiling of hips, and he knew that no intervention was needed. A deeper, more clearly erotic moan reached his ears and he blushed and hurried away, leading Crowley by the hand.

“Hell, humans are so _horny._ Right there in the street.” Crowley snickered like a schoolboy.

“Well, they are just primates.” He furrowed his brow. “We, rather. _We_ are just primates.”

Of all the mortal drives Aziraphale was now saddled with – hunger, thirst, exhaustion – libido was not one of them. He considered it now for the very first time since becoming human years ago. He didn’t revile sex – there was nothing wrong with it, nothing inherently sinful. It’s a very human thing to do. As an angel, he had never even considered partaking. It just wasn’t Done. Then again, neither was eating, or dancing, or collecting books. In retrospect, he thought, maybe his abstinence had nothing to do with his divineness. Maybe it had everything to do with him.

His eyes flickered nervously to Crowley. He realized that he had no idea where the demon landed on the matter. They’d been friends for centuries, and he didn’t even know if Crowley had had sex before. There was never any heat to Crowley’s touches or kisses with Aziraphale, even when they were naked together, as in the shower, but he couldn’t be sure that that wasn’t merely patience. Crowley, knowing how much time Aziraphale needs to process every little development, waiting for him to take the lead. The poor dear might’ve waited forever.

“Would you… Do you want to, uh… ever - try something… like that?” Aziraphale groaned internally. _Very smooth._ Crowley would mock him about that for the rest of time, he knew it.

Crowley couldn’t stop a corner of his mouth from curling up, but he didn’t comment on Aziraphale’s distinctive lack of suave. He also didn’t seem completely thrown by the question. Maybe he was thinking along the same lines after witnessing such a spectacle. He only shrugged, eyes hidden behind dark spectacles, even this late at night. Old habits. “I’m not opposed.”

“Have you ever, er,” Azirphale grasped for words. “ _tried._ Before? With anyone?”

“Not really. I did some seduction work, back in the day, but it never got that far. Led people into sinful thoughts, rather than deeds.” Crowley shrugged again, as nonchalant as if they were discussing a movie neither of them had seen.

Aziraphale tried not to let his relief show. It wasn’t that he would have been jealous. He was mostly glad he wouldn’t be completely outmatched when it came to experience. “I’m sure you were quite effective.”

“Why, angel, are you flirting with me?” His smile was full of mischief.

“Only if it’s working.” Aziraphale admitted. Crowley snickered again and lifted their held hands to his lips.

“I’m amenable, if you want to give it a go.”

They were approaching their hotel and Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. He rolled the idea around in his head. _Crowley and I are going to go upstairs and have sex._ Something fluttered in his stomach, something that landed somewhere between anxiety and anticipation. He couldn’t quite tell if he liked it or not.

* * *

Some hours later, they lay in bed together, naked and sticky and sore. They had gone slowly, been very gentle with each other, asking early and often: ‘can I…’ and ‘would you like it if I…’ and ‘does it feel good when I…’. There were a lot of moments where one of them couldn’t find a comfortable position, or one of them got a muscle cramp, or a decidedly unsexy bodily sound made them both lose their focus for a minute. Aziraphale found himself to be very anxious, most of the time. _Did he like that? Did I? What am I supposed to be doing right now?_

Aziraphale had to admit that the climax had been enjoyable, but mostly in a chemical way. ‘Do x action, get rewarded by neurotransmitter y.’ It was simple biology. Without it, the species would have likely died out long ago. But it hadn’t touched his heart. It was a superficial kind of pleasure, like a caffeine rush or an opium high. It couldn’t hold a candle to the genuine satisfaction of a good book, or sharing a delicious meal with a friend, or even the simple intimacy of a sexless shower with a partner.

“What did you think?” He let his head loll to the side, making eye contact with Crowley, whose eyelids were starting to droop. His red hair was just long enough that it started to curl at the bottom. He’d been growing it out again ever since the apocalypse. Aziraphale pulled at one of the curls gently, just to watch it bounce back into place. Crowley gave him a tender smile.

“It was good. I think it’s quite a lot of work for what you get out of it, though.”

Aziraphale hummed and nodded minutely. “I agree. No offense, my dear, but I just don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

“None taken, angel. Was thinking the same thing, to be honest.” He rolled towards Aziraphale, pressing a kiss to the angel’s collarbone.

“We’re on the same page, then. That’s good. I was a bit nervous you’d take to it much better than I would, considering.”

Crowley scowled up at him. “Oi, considering what?”

“Considering your, well, your stock.”

Crowley rolled his eyes dramatically. “Demons are just as sexless as angels, Aziraphale. Just because lust is in the big seven, doesn’t mean we feel it. We only have to inspire it in others.”

Aziraphale supposed that made a lot of sense.  He shrugged, allowing Crowley the point.

With another fond eyeroll, Crowley bit him gently on the shoulder before rolling over, apparently settling in for the night.

“My love, if we fall asleep like this, we will feel so dreadful in the morning.” They were both sweaty and sticky and Aziraphale was not keen to stew in it overnight.

Crowley whined like a child being instructed to eat vegetables. “Aziraphale, I’m so tired, and my body feels weird, I don’t wanna mooove.”

“I know, I know. Another human design flaw, if I’ve ever seen one, but come on. We’d really better shower.”

That night was not the last time they would have sex. Sometimes, they would get drunk (infrequently, now that they could get hungover), and stumble into the act almost on accident. Sometimes, one of them would learn about a specific sexual scenario they wanted to try out at least once, just to be able to tell themselves they’d given it a fair shot. But it was only ever a passing diversion for them.

Maybe it did have something to do with their divine stock. Maybe it didn’t. They decided it didn’t much matter.


	13. I wouldn't fall for someone I thought couldn't misbehave

They were in San Francisco the following summer, about three years post-apocalypse. They had rented a nice little loft for the first week of June to take in the pride celebration. This one had been Aziraphale’s idea, and Crowley had been rather taken aback by it.

“Crowley, I’d like to go to a pride parade.”

“A _gay_ pride parade? What for?”

“Well, because I’m proud of how far the humans have come in the last two hundred years. While angels and demons don’t really operate under the human constraints of gender, you and I appear to the world as gay men. Well, at the moment. If it weren’t for the work of brave humans who fought against the Victorian concept of heteronormativity, we might not be able to move about the world so freely. But we can. I’d rather like to celebrate that.” Aziraphale grew distant, and his eyes began to swim. “Think of all our friends who suffered. Oscar Wilde. Alan Turing. Anne Lister. So many more. We should go, to honor them.”

Crowley gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re gay for me, Aziraphale?”

“Well, inasmuch as a genderless being can be, yes I’m rather gay for you.”

“Then I’ll take you to any pride parade you want, angel, just pick a city.”

And they had decided on San Francisco. It was big, the weather would be nice, it was safe, and above all, it was a city they hadn’t seen before.

They wound their way towards city center, following a gaggle of young people wearing skimpy clothes in bright colors. They themselves were dressed rather modestly. Aziraphale wore a cream colored button up shirt with khaki boat shorts. Crowley, despite the heat, opted for tight black jeans and a plain black v-neck. His hair had grown back out, to about shoulder length, and he wore it half-up half-down. Aziraphale loved it when he wore it like that. They walked hand in hand, Aziraphale marveling at the amount of people swarming the streets. Crowley couldn’t take his eyes off the angel, drinking in his wide-eyed wonder.

They turned onto the main street and stopped short. There were _thousands_ of humans thronging the city capitol. All genders and races and sizes and ages. There were marching bands blaring triumphantly. There were rainbows _everywhere._

Aziraphale touched his hand to his chest. “Oh.”

Crowley quirked an eyebrow at him and squeezed his hand. A silent question.

He looked up at Crowley, eyes shining. “There’s so much love in this space. It reminds me of Tadfield, when I had the divine sense and I could feel how much Adam loved his hometown.” He looked back out over the crowd. “ _So much love.”_

Crowley tipped Aziraphale’s chin up towards his face, looking into his eyes. “You, Aziraphale, are the most sentimental old sap.”

“You love me, though.” Aziraphale pushed up onto his toes to press a soft kiss to Crowley’s lips.

After they parted, Crowley held his eyes shut for a few seconds. He tried to commit to memory every single time Aziraphale kissed him. When he opened his eyes, he smirked at Aziraphale’s coy smile. “Yeah, angel, you know I do.”

They walked on, aimlessly following the flow of people. They passed lots of tables selling food, crafts, and flags. They approached an unattended table that was completely covered in little heart stickers, each one with slightly different stripes. People seemed to walk up, pick out a sticker – often one that matched the color scheme they were wearing or the flags they were carrying, and walk away. They observed a pair of young androgynous people walk up and pick out, respectively, a pink/white/blue heart, and a yellow/white/purple heart, excitedly tittering about how they ‘had them both’.

“Excuse me, uh, friends.” The young couple turned towards Aziraphale. “What are the significance of the, uh, the-“

“The different flags?” The taller androgynous person responded first. “Well, the rainbow flag is kind of the umbrella for pride, but there’s basically a flag for each different kind of identity.” They pointed at the pink/white/blue one their partner had picked up. “That’s the trans flag. Mine-“ they pointed to their yellow/white/purple one “-is the nonbinary flag.” They started pointing out different color schemes and rattling off words that Aziraphale had never heard before. “Here’s bi, pan, lesbian, butch, asexual, genderqueer…”

Aziraphale’s eyes bugged. Crowley had hung back through this whole interaction, eyebrows raised. He knew some of the language these kids were using, but certainly not all of it. He pulled out his phone and started hurriedly googling. Ever the serpent, craving knowledge.

“Go easy on ‘em, Rae, they’re like, super old.” The shorter person gently scolded their partner, and picked up two rainbow hearts. “Here you go, guys. Can’t go wrong with the classic rainbow.”

Aziraphale accepted the stickers and nodded, still bewildered. “Thank you very much.”

“Happy pride!” The young people waved and wandered off, holding hands.

Aziraphale turned to Crowley excitedly. “They wish each other ‘happy pride!’ How sweet is that?! Oh, I _love_ humans.” He handed Crowley one of the rainbow heart stickers reverently, like a gift that had been bestowed on him by a higher power.

Crowley took it, peeled off the back, and stuck it to Aziraphale’s chest. “Happy pride, angel.” He leaned across Aziraphale to pick up a few other heart stickers. The nonbinary flag that they had just been educated about, as well as a purple/grey/white one.

“Crowley, you shouldn’t wear one if you don’t know what it means. This is a very intricate and diverse culture we’re experiencing, we have to-“

Crowley looked back at his phone, holding up the yellow/white/purple heart. “Nonbinary. The spectrum of identities that are not exclusively male or female.” Aziraphale looked intrigued. _Why, that’s us!_ Crowley stuck the nonbinary sticker to Aziraphale. He held up the purple/grey/white heart. “Asexual. Having low or absent sexual attraction to others and/or interest in sexual activity.” He stuck this heart onto Aziraphale as well, where the three hearts overlapped a bit and formed a slightly bigger – if lumpier – heart. Aziraphale ran a hand over them, looking wistful.

“My, all this time we thought we were alone in the world, so different from humans in these fundamental ways. We’re actually quite alike.”

“We’ve been more human than anything else for a long time, angel.” _We’re on our own side._

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.” They started to walk with the crowd again, pointing out people wearing particularly outlandish outfits, or brandishing flags they hadn’t seen yet. Crowley was turning to point out a drag queen on stilts when he realized that Aziraphale was no longer paying attention to him.

Aziraphale’s hand tightened on Crowley’s wrist, and the demon followed his eyeline to see a man standing alone on the other side of the street barricade, holding a sign and yelling. The sign read ‘Jesus hates fags!’

“You’ll all be punished for your immorality! But it’s not too late! Jesus’ forgiveness is boundless! Renounce your sacrilegious ways, and you will be saved! Cleansed! Come into Jesus’ love before it’s too late!”

Crowley sucked his teeth. He debated with himself for exactly 2 seconds before giving in to his first instinct. “Alright then.” He ignored a pleading “Crowley, don’t-“ from Aziraphale and released his hand, already on the warpath. He cut across the traffic of the crowd and jabbed a finger at the man with the sign.

“Listen here, shitstain, out of the two of us, only one of us has actually met Jesus, and ‘hate’ was not in the kid’s vocabulary, alright? He told people to be kind to each other, and he was crucified for it. You’re exactly like Pilot, spewing hatred like this.”

The man looked shocked, but continued yelling to the crowd in general. “Leviticus 18:22, ‘You shall not lie with a man as with a woman; it is an abomination.’”

Crowley sneered. “Don’t quote scripture to me, old man, I was there when they wrote it. In _fucking_ Aramaic. What’s been lost in translation, and maybe purposefully twisted by homophobic nitwits, is that the intended meaning was ‘young male you are related to’. It forbids pedophilia and incest, you dense prick. Get over yourself and go the _fuck_ home. Pray to God that She forgives you for the harm you’ve caused already.” Even without demonic influence, Crowley was an intimidating presence. He leaned on the barrier to get right up into the man’s space, eyes burning with intensity, and the man retreated.

A cheer went up behind him. He turned to see that a small crowd had gathered to watch him tell off the protester. Aziraphale, blue eyes sparkling, surged forward and kissed him square on the mouth. The cheering got louder.

“Sorry, luv, I got a little carried away.” Crowley wrapped an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders as the parade marched on.

“Don’t be! He deserved that and much more. I’m surprised you became so impassioned. When I mentioned coming to pride, you didn’t seem too invested.”

“Yeah, well, ever since you brought it up, I’ve been thinking about it and you’re right. Even with our gender, you know” he made some incoherent noises and hand gestures to indicate his understanding of the matter “we definitely aren’t straight. We’re ineffable. We’re a team, and we love each other. No bible-thumping primate is going to look me in the eye and tell me that’s an abomination. And, look around, here are thousands of people who feel the same way. They deserve to know that it’s alright with Her. It’s part of Her plan.”

Aziraphale’s face glowed with a smile that said ‘I’m proud of you’ and ‘I’m so glad you’re still a little bit of a demon’.

“I love you, Crowley.”

“I love you.” They kissed again, slowly and sweetly.

After pulling back, Aziraphale chuckled to himself. “Well, considering you do feel strongly, now I’m actually surprised you didn’t just knock him out.”

Crowley grinned and pressed a kiss into the angel’s hair as they walked. “Eh, I thought about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny that I'm posting this chapter today.  
> Today, the city of Boston has allowed the local alt-right (read: nazi) groups to organize a "straight pride" parade. Because it has been approved/endorsed by the city, the police will be there primarily to protect the nazis. The nazis also have "internal security" (read: nazis with weapons) to protect against the "dangerous hate group antifa" (read: protesters). Many queer people are going to protest (for obvious reasons), but it will be dangerous. If any of you are in the area, be safe. If any of you know someone in the area, check to make sure they're alright. Remember your community. Stick together, take care of each other, keep each other safe.


	14. when the earth is trembling on some new beginning

The streets of New Orleans simmered in the early morning sun, suffused with energy from the previous night’s festivities. Aziraphale and Crowley, who hadn’t visited since Prohibition – much different experience, then – sat quietly at a café reading the news over tea. Aziraphale, of course, was reading an actual physical newspaper, whereas Crowley was reading off his phone because _he_ wasn’t a complete dinosaur.

Aziraphale gasped at the paper, and Crowley looked up from his phone. A proud smile started to blossom on Aziraphale’s face, and he briefly looked up to ensure he had Crowley’s attention before he started reading aloud. “American Teen Strikes Killing Blow to Natural Gas Companies. Warlock Dowling, aged 16, led a rally on the US Capitol to protest the use of fracking. He was arrested for trespassing and disturbing the peace –“ Crowley scoffed. _Bullshit charges_. “—and chose to represent himself in court. The historic trial ended yesterday, and Dowling was acquitted, as his trespassing technically fell under the Good Samaritan law, which affords immunity to someone attempting to save a life. Dowling presented scientific evidence that fracking practices contributed to as many as 400 deaths in the past year, and natural gas contributes to the global climate emergency. Legislators are imposing new sanctions on natural gas companies in light of this ruling.”

“That’s our boy!” Crowley clapped once, beaming. “Told you he’d come up alright. Just enough of a little bastard to get something done.”

“Respect for all living creatures, just like I taught him!” Aziraphale giggled, slapping the newspaper onto the table with a flourish. “I wonder if we should write to him. What would he think, hm? The gardener and the nanny, sharing a little flat in Soho, traveling the world, reading about him in the paper? ‘We’re so proud of you!’” He giggled again.

Leaning back in his seat, Crowley let that word rattle around his heart. Proud. It warmed him from the inside out, made his ribs feel suddenly too tight. He’d been proud before, sure, pride was one of his favorite sins when he was active. But this was different. He was proud for someone else. Someone he had a hand in raising, doing something good for the world.

“Wanna do it again?” Feigning casual, he scanned Aziraphale’s face.

“What? Sneak into an estate as a gardener and a nanny? As dazzling as you look in a dress, my dear – “

“Raise a child.” He cut him off, still the picture of ambivalence. He leaned back in his chair, with his hand on his teacup. Aziraphale’s face morphed from confusion to surprise to interest.

“You mean, a child of our own?” His blue eyes became distant, considering.

“We could adopt. Maybe get a lad around 10, you know, as we’re a bit old for a baby. Teach ‘im right and wrong, tell ‘im about our lives.” He was becoming insecure, half-waiting for Aziraphale to shoot him down. “It’d be something to do with ourselves, at least.”

Aziraphale was distant and unreadable for just long enough that Crowley was formulating a way to wheel it all back. _Just kidding! Funny joke! Ha ha!_

“What if we got a little girl?” Aziraphale finally returned from his musings, looking intently at Crowley, who was a bit stunned at the turn. “Oh, heavens, wouldn’t that be precious? We could travel with her, show her our favorite cities. We’d have to convert the study into a room for the child. Or maybe we should leave London. We could get a proper house somewhere, not too far outside the city, though, we’d want her to have a metropolitan experience. Hm… Have you ever been to South Downs?”

“Wait, are you… are you actually on board for this?” Crowley leaned forward quizzically. He was so used to the angel being the voice of reason when he spouted off crazy ideas like this one.

Aziraphale reached for Crowley’s hand and squeezed it. “It’s a wonderful idea, Crowley, we should head back to London and start looking into it at once.” With a final squeeze, he released their held hands and went to pick up the newspaper again. Crowley smiled, sipping his tea. That went better than he anticipated.

“I wonder if they’ll mind that we’re unmarried.”

Crowley spat out his tea. “Sorry?” Aziraphale spoke so matter of factly, Crowley was almost worried he’d imagined the words.

Aziraphale peeked at him over the paper. “Whatever adoption authority we have to go through. I wonder if they’ll let us adopt, seeing as we aren’t married.”

Crowley gaped, before huffing a laugh. “Well, we could fix that, I spose.” What wormhole had he fallen through that the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale were sitting across the breakfast table from each other, discussing marriage over tea like it was the weather report?

Aziraphale refocused on the paper, voice chiding. “Well, that was hardly a proposal, was it?”

Crowley scoffed again, looking around as if wishing there was someone to witness that unbelievable conversation. He shook his head quietly and returned his attention to his phone.

_Well_ , he thought to himself, _better go buy a ring, then_.


	15. be still my foolish heart

Around the corner from A. Z. Fell’s Booksellers stood a little family-owned jewelry shop. It had stood there for generations, holding strong against the overpowering tide of gentrification, even though it seemed to get no customers. It stayed in business, mostly, because it was a mob front. But, every once in a while, they did bother to sell jewelry.

Mary Adams had seen a lot happen in the little Soho jewelry shop she inherited from her father 30 years ago. Sometimes men came in and huddled close over a piece in the display counter, just to exchange a few words before leaving and walking separate ways. Sometimes, someone would pay triple the marked price for an item. Sometimes, someone would pay with a check that just said “For Tommy” on the amount line. She had learned to stop asking questions. Someone in the Business, as they called it, ran her books, and as long as she kept getting paid and the store stayed in the black, she didn’t much care.

What she very rarely saw these days was a normal customer. Most people, when they want a fancy piece of jewelry as a gift, just order something online. It was all online shopping and chain stores, nowadays. Ugh.

It was worth noting, then, that she saw two men shopping for wedding rings on the same day.

The first man was short and stout, with white blonde hair, and he wore something that looked like a costume to a renaissance ball. Waist coat, pocket watch, bow tie, the whole bit. He smiled very brightly at her and she knew right away that he wasn’t part of the Business.

“Good morning, dear lady, I’m looking for a wedding ring?”

“Should I be givin congratulations?” She leaned on the counter.

“Well, not quite yet, I suppose. We are going to get married, we just haven’t gotten around to proposing.” His hands were laced together over his midsection, steady. For someone who hadn’t actually proposed yet, he was rather calm about the idea of buying the wedding band itself. Mary admired his confidence.

“Well, good luck then. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” She winked and gestured for him to follow her to the side of the shop. A glass case was illuminated, full of rings. Some gaudy, with big glittering stones, some just simple gold bands. “What kind of ring were you thinkin? Somethin flashy? Somethin subtle?”

The gentleman’s eyes widened as he looked at the display. There must have been fifty different kinds in there, so she was expecting a reaction like that. “Well… both, actually. He’s, well, flashy is one way to put it. Likes to make an entrance, likes to be noticed. But I don’t imagine he’d want anything big and clunky on his fingers. He likes black.”

Mary nodded, thinking. “Summat like this, maybe?” She opened the case from her side and lifted out a black ring. The detailing was phenomenal, with intricate whorls and carvings that looked a bit like a gothic wrought-iron gate.

The man thought on it for a minute but shook his head. “That’s almost the right idea, but he’s a bit modern for something like this.”

“Hmm, what about this?” Mary pointed out a sleek black ring. “No stones. No engraving. Very modern.”

The gentleman teetered his head on his shoulders like he couldn’t decide. “It’s too plain for him. I’m sorry, my dear, I just…”

“You want it to be perfect. I understand. We’ll keep lookin.” She patted his hand across the case, reading anxiety in his blue eyes. This sop was so far in love. “What about this one?”

She lifted one out of the case and Aziraphale’s eyes lit up. It was a black ring with a bit of criss-crossing etching. If you looked at it long enough, it could almost look like tire track patterns. Around the edge of the band was a silver strip inlaid with small diamonds.

“Oh, it’s lovely.” He moved to take it, holding it reverently up to the light. “Why, I quite think this is the one.”

Mary smiled, watching him inspect it closely. That was one of their more expensive pieces, but she didn’t think the man would mind too much. Dressed all bourgeois like that?

The man paid for the ring without blinking and left. She smiled to herself, both at the profitable sale and at the happy customer. She wished him well.

Later that very day, Mary was doing some work in the back when she heard the bell tinkle.

She returned to the counter to see a tall, slender fellow dressed in all black. He wore dark sunglasses, and his shoulder length red hair was coiffed in a way that was intentionally meant to look unintentional. He sauntered towards the counter, all hips and confidence. Mary thought for a moment he would have been a Business man, but she’d never seen him before.

“Hello, I’m looking for, uh, some rings?”

Mary gave him an indecipherable look. “Wedding rings?”

The man hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yup. I’m, uh, gettin married.” He seemed to stumble over the words. “Who’d have thought.”

Mary squinted dubiously at him for a minute. _It can’t be…_ “Congratulations, then. How did you propose?”

The man pressed his lips together. “Uhh, well, I haven’t, exactly, yet. But I think he’ll say yes – I _know_ he will.” His hands fluttered nervously at his sides.

“Tell me about your betrothed, then.” The man hesitated. Boy, this one was jumpy! “So I can help you find the right ring, o’course.”

“He is… very proper. Traditional. Likes the simple, quiet life. He likes white and gold.”

Mary had to bite the inside of her lip to stop herself laughing.

Unbelievable. The sweet fools had no idea the other was ring shopping. She wondered who would be the one to beat the other to the punch. Flash Harry here seemed to be the likely choice, all full of swagger and devil-may-care. But the first man had seemed so sure.

Looking at him now, she felt sure that he would love the ring his hubby had picked for him. Time to ensure the opposite would be true.

“He sounds like a catch. Well, right over here, sir.” She directed him to the glass case and let him peruse for a moment on his own. “If I can make a recommendation.” She reached for a small gold ring and held it up to the light. It was a simple braided band of gold and white gold. Mary thought it would suit the shorter man perfectly, if she did say so herself.

The gentleman eyed it for a moment before nodding. “S’perfect.” He flashed her a winning smile. “He’ll love it.”

Mary completed the transaction and watched the tall man leave.

 _Sweet fools._ She smiled to herself again. _I hope things work out for them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.amazon.com/Handmade-Braided-Unique-Wedding-twisted/dp/B078X99YJ3
> 
> https://www.zales.com/mens-12-ct-tw-diamond-zigzag-center-wedding-band-10k-white-gold-black-rhodium/p/V-20245209?cid=PLA-goo-shop_p2_bridal_wedding/anniversary/eternity+new+new+-+Desktop&ds_rl=1252053&ds_rl=1252056&gclid=Cj0KCQjwl6LoBRDqARIsABllMSYX54J7ncjXWniij1F5DSOTnHOVCmGrd5zyrn6bMA-8NIKISV7dM3MaAmCDEALw_wcB&gclsrc=aw.ds


	16. I couldn't utter my love when it counted, but I'm singing like a bird about it now

Aziraphale knew exactly what Crowley was doing.

His dear, sweet demon had planned a perfect day in London together, with all his favorite activities. First, they would go to see Hamlet, playing downtown. Afterwards, they had reservations at the Ritz – yes, they had to make reservations the human way now, although Crowley’s name still meant something over there and they managed to jump the majority of the waitlist. Finally, they would stroll through St. James’ Park.

Where, naturally, Crowley would propose. Aziraphale knew him too well to not see through his thin ruse of “just wanted to have a nice evening with you, luv.”

Well, old habits die hard - Aziraphale was plotting to thwart his dastardly wiles.

In New Orleans, he had essentially asked Crowley to propose to him. A strategic error, in hindsight. Now, he anticipated, any proposal forthcoming would be tinged with the feeling of a favor done, an expectation met. And, selfishly, Aziraphale could admit that the look on Crowley’s face would be delicious when he realized he’d been outmaneuvered. So, Aziraphale had contrived to beat him to the punch.

“Ready to go, angel?” Crowley trotted downstairs into the bookshop, as if he hadn’t been the one fussing with his hair for the past 30 minutes while Aziraphale waited near the door.

He suppressed an affectionate eyeroll (barely). “Yes, dear boy. Shall we walk, or drive?” Aziraphale rested his folded hands on his waist, discreetly feeling the weight of a small box in his waistcoat pocket. The press of the small square against his arm nearly made him wiggle with excitement. This was going to be so much _fun._

“Let’s walk, eh? Lovely evening.” Crowley patted himself down, looking for something. His hands stilled on the front pocket of his slacks for a split second, a tiny flush beginning at his neck, before they continued to flutter up to his breast pocket, where his sunglasses rested. With a flourish, he flicked them open and rested them on his nose before stepping jauntily outside, holding the door open for his angel.

_He thinks he’s so subtle._ Aziraphale thought smugly to himself.

They walked arm in arm all the way to the theater. Crowley was right, it was a lovely evening in Soho. Couldn’t have miracled better weather if they tried.

Hamlet was a pleasure, as always. There seemed to be just a touch of romantic tension between Laertes, played by a woman in this production, and Ophelia, leaving the audience to wonder if that was an artistic choice or simply a backstage affair bleeding into the performance. Crowley argued after the show that it might’ve been both: but which scenario precipitated the other? They debated back and forth, luxuriating in the new twist on a familiar story, all the way to the Ritz.

Crowley held the door open for his angel, as always, and they entered the veritable palace that they’d come to know so well over the past 70 years. Golden, glittering arches and luxurious, crème colored fabrics boasted affluence and elegance. And, although he couldn’t Feel it the same way anymore, the room positively vibrated with love. His eyes scanned the room for their regular table, which was awaiting them, and he heard Crowley’s voice in his memory: “ _To the world”._

Aziraphale sighed happily. “It’s been too long.”

* * *

“Ah, Mister Crowley, it has been too long!” The host, Daniel, was an older man who had maintained his post here at the Ritz for the past 15 years. He had seen the couple’s comings and goings since he began this job, and even before, his predecessor spoke of the unlikely pair stretching back as far as he could remember. One man, slick, dressed in all black, always touting the most recent and most expensive styles, bright red hair a lick of flame. The other man, soft, rounded, covered head to toe in beige and white, and looking for all the world like a librarian from the 1850s. The men never seemed to age, remaining nebulously middle-aged for decades on end. It was whispered that Mister Crowley always managed to call for a same-day reservation shortly after someone else unexpectedly cancelled theirs. Rumors ran rampant among the staff – they were wizards, they were vampires, they were high-ranking gang officials with plenty of cash for plastic surgery. Who knew. What was certain was that you’d never see one without the other. Long had the staff speculated on the nature of the relationship, but it had been over 40 years since anyone truly believed that it was purely platonic.

“Your table awaits, sirs.” Daniel scooped up a set of menus and led them on a winding path through the dining room. He did not fail to notice the way that Mister Crowley’s hand had lingered chivalrously on Mister Fell’s back while he pulled the chair out. Daniel internally crowed, excited to return to the kitchens with this new tidbit of gossip. He rattled off the specials and left the pair to themselves.

He took a brief loop through the kitchens, purely to gossip, of course. The Ritz Cryptids, as one of the younger servers had taken to calling them, had caught everyone’s interest and the staff ate it up excitedly.

Returning to his post, Daniel kept one eye on the table. He watched their server come and go, bringing bottles of wine and multiple courses of food. As he remembered, Mister Crowley did most of the drinking, and Mister Fell did most of the eating. He couldn’t hear their conversation from across the dining room, but he easily understood the way they were looking at each other. Mister Crowley would lean forward and say something with a twitch of an eyebrow, Mister Fell would smile coquettishly and blush. Something between them had solidified in the past few years since they’d been absent from the Ritz. Daniel’s heart glowed to watch.

Towards the end of the meal, he saw Crowley stand and mosy through the dining room towards the bathrooms. It did not strike Daniel that that was the only time in recorded history that Mister Crowley had done so. Mister Fell followed him with his eyes, and as soon as Mister Crowley turned a corner, Daniel found himself suddenly under his heavy blue gaze.

Mister Fell stood and approached, hurrying his step a bit. “Hello, dear boy. I was hoping I could ask a favor?”

“Of course, Mister Fell. Has everything been to your liking?”

“Oh, yes, why, just remarkable. My compliments to the chef, as always. However, I was hoping you would aid me in a plot I have for our friend Crowley?” A mischievous glint sparkled through Mister Fell’s eyes.

Daniel raised a single eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

Mister Fell looked over his shoulder briefly, confirming that Mister Crowley had not returned from the restroom. “Crowley is under the impression that we are done for the evening. I am going to talk him into one last glass of champagne. What I need from you, is…” He continued muttering to himself while he patted down his waistcoat and finally extracted a small velvet box.

Daniel’s heart leapt into his throat. But with the practiced ease of someone who has worked in customer service for years, his face conveyed no emotion. “I know exactly what to do. I’ll just bring this to the bar and they’ll ready two glasses of our finest.”

Mister Fell’s grin could be seen from the moon.

“And may I say, sir-“ Daniel allowed a crack of a wry smile to show. “We’re all very happy for you.”

With that, the conspirators parted. Daniel hurried to the bar to communicate the plan, alternating between excited explanation and vehement hushing. Mister Fell resumed his seat before Mister Crowley reappeared, and after a moment’s discussion, sat back down across from his partner.

“Think he’ll say yes?” The bartender asked before passing Daniel the tray with two glasses, one a stone heavier than the other.

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be daft.”

After a brief moment of eye contact with Mister Fell, Daniel approached with the tray, customer service face firmly intact so as to not give anything away.

“Sirs.” He murmured politely before depositing the glasses and backing away slowly, not so far that he couldn’t observe the proceedings.

Mister Fell lifted his glass to initiate a toast, eyes already looking a bit misty.

“To you, Crowley, my dear. You were the first friend I ever had. The first person to ever believe in me, that no matter what I did, as long as I did it out of love, it could never be wrong. Everything that I have done, to stop the world ending, to protect you, to protect the life we have built together over these many years, I have done out of love, and I know that I made the right choices. I only wish I’d found this confidence sooner, I could have avoided years of holding you at an arms length out of fear. But now, we’re beyond that. I have you in all the ways I’d never dreamed possible, and I’m so blessed. I wouldn’t trade the years I have left with you for the world. Every day you inspire me to be the bravest, most honest, most true version of myself, because of all the ways that you are brave, honest, and true. I have loved you for ages, my darling, and I am going to love you for the rest of my life.”

Mister Crowley watched, speechless, face slack and mouth agape, as Mister Fell lifted his glass slightly higher, prompting him to return the motion. He shook himself and lifted his glass to clink with his partner’s. Daniel could see the exact moment his eyes caught the glint of light bouncing off the ring at the bottom of the glass. He stilled, ceasing even to breathe for a moment, before Mister Fell continued.

“Would you do me the honor of taking me as your husband?” His smile continued to gleam, looking like the cat that ate the canary. He showed absolutely no anticipation as to how his partner would respond. Daniel’s stomach was in enough knots for the both of them, it seemed.

Mister Crowley remained frozen long enough that Daniel started to feel his stomach drop.

“You bastard.” Mister Crowley finally breathed out, as his face morphed into a beatific smile. Both men stood at the same moment and wrapped each other up in a passionate, and yet somehow very chaste, kiss.

Someone in the dining room began to applaud as they parted just far enough for Mister Fell to slide the ring onto Mister Crowley’s finger. The black and white layered bands sparkled in the light as the applause became uproarious, with members of the staff piling out of the kitchen to bear witness.

Tears flowed freely between them, and they smiled at each other like a pair of binary stars, shining just for each other, caught forever in orbit.

* * *

“You knew.” Crowley held the door for Aziraphale, admiring the way the ring on his finger glinted with the motion. Something sweet and possessive curled in his gut.

“Of course I knew, dear, you’ve been twitching about this evening for an entire week!” Aziraphale ribbed happily, walking down the steps and making to turn right.

“Where are you going, angel?” Crowley had assumed that Aziraphale’s rather spectacular proposal would be the surprise grand finale to the evening.

Aziraphale looked back, quizzically. “Well, to St. James, of course, where you can do your proposal. Was that not the plan, dear? I know you put a lot of thought into this evening so I’d like to see it through.”

They stood staring at each other for a beat before Crowley laughed and took the offered arm. “I dunno, I was thinking about chickening out. How do I know he’ll say yes?”

“Ah, well, it’s a risk we all take.” The angel smiled sardonically before softening. “However, anyone would be a fool to refuse you. The handsomest devil I’ve ever seen, to be sure.”

“Handsomer than Wilde?”

Azirphale swatted Crowley’s chest with his free hand. “Now that’s not fair.”

Crowley tipped his head back with a laugh. “S’all right angel. If I remember right, I was identifying as something fem-leaning at the time. Handsome wouldn’t have been my goal.”

“Well, then, the most stunning, attractive, enticing devil I’ve ever seen. There, a perfectly good set of gender-neutral compliments that encompass your entire existence.” Aziraphale had the tendency to deliver heart-wrenching compliments with the tone of an 8 year old child who was about to stick his tongue out at you, and it made Crowley’s ribs feel too small every time.

Their stroll to the park continued in this way, bickering flirtatiously in the way that only an old married (but newly engaged) couple could manage. As they entered and wound their way through the park, Aziraphale felt his anticipation mounting. When would be the moment? Where would be the spot?

Confusion and a single drop of dread landed in his stomach when he saw the bandstand appear on the horizon.

“Darling-“

Crowley tightened his grip on the angel’s arm. “Please, luv.”

Aziraphale bit his bottom lip and nodded. He wasn’t proud of the things that had transpired here, and to be perfectly honest, they hadn’t spoken much about it over the years. They’d both apologized for things said but not meant, meant but not said, without delving into specifics. Removing his sunglasses, Crowley took a bracing breath. Clearly this was affecting him, too.

_There is no ‘our side’ Crowley! Not anymore. It’s over._ His own words echoing through his memory made his stomach twist with guilt. No amount of apologies and forgiveness would make him stop feeling the shame of that crucial moment of cowardice.

Crowley brought Aziraphale up the steps and held both of his hands in his own.

“Aziraphale. My angel. I brought you here, because I want to apologize properly for what I did here.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to contradict, to insist that ‘ _No, it was me, I was obviously at fault._ ’ But Crowley barreled on.

“I boxed you into a corner. I knew you had heaven breathing down your back, I knew you weren’t right with yourself about your relationship with Her and how it could possibly coexist with your relationship with me.” _We’re not friends. I don’t even like you!_ “And I was scared. Scared of losing you, scared of losing the world, so I pushed too hard, I went too fast again, and I asked something big of you. Give it all up, for me. Choose me, over everything you’ve ever known to be right. And when you said no, I pushed harder. And for that, I am sorry.” Crowley paused, clearly expecting an answer.

_May you be forgiven._

_I won’t be forgiven. Not ever. Unforgiveable, that’s what I am._

“My love, you’re forgiven. You’ve been forgiven.” Aziraphale brought their clasped hands up to his lips, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s left fourth knuckle.

“I know.”

Aziraphale searched his face for any lingering doubt, remarkably finding none. He did know. He did feel forgiven. For such a trifling little two words, Aziraphale knew it was a monumental step forward for the demon. His heart tugged gently to see the resolve in his love’s warm brown eyes.

“I know that you know now that there’s nothing wrong with our relationship. Just like you said, the things we’ve done, we’ve done out of love for each other, and how could that ever be wrong? And do you know what I think? I think Heaven and Hell had nothing to do with this-“ He tapped a finger near his eye, to symbolize their mortality. “I think She did it. She saw what we did, for each other, for the world, and She turned us human, as a gift. Not a curse. You wanna know why? Because She has always loved the humans the most. She turned us into two of her favorite children, because She loves and accepts us. We’re both forgiven. Because there was nothing to forgive.”

Aziraphale bit his lip to try to halt the flow of tears threatening to start. Crowley had to clear a lump from his throat before continuing.

“Last time we were here, I asked something big of you, too big. Something I wasn’t ready to ask, something you weren’t ready to give. But now, I think, I’m ready, and I hope you are too.” He chuckled quietly, clearly having drafted that part while under the assumption that this would be the first marriage proposal of the evening. He took a ringbox out of his trouser pocket and sank to one knee.

“Aziraphale, my love, will you marry me?”

And, for the second time this evening, Aziraphale Felt an area radiating with love. Crowley had taken this bad memory, this scar on both of their psyches, and healed it, allowed it to blossom into something beautiful. His amazing companion, his wily serpent. How could he have ever thought for a moment that it would come to anything but this?

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of a long one so I hope you'll forgive me in advance for not actually writing a wedding... I just don't think I can top this tbh


	17. we should just kiss like real people do

Crowley gripped the wheel of the Bentley with white knuckles. He’d spent a lot of time and energy re-learning how to drive, and despite his nature, he adhered religiously to the rules of the road. Never pushed the speed limit, never turned without a blinker. Aziraphale had been surprised at the amount of restraint the demon had developed.

Crowley didn’t have the heart to explain to Aziraphale how dangerous driving could be for mortals. One misstep and boom. The most precious cargo in the world, gone in a moment, because of a turn taken too sharply or an overestimated yellow light. Crowley couldn’t bring himself to explain that the front passenger seat of a car is the most dangerous place to be in a collision, because even though Crowley would give his life to protect his angel, in a split-second car-crash scenario, his human body would hit the override and react on reflex to keep itself alive, passengers be damned. Crowley didn’t have it in him to try to describe the feeling of waiting for Aziraphale to wake up in the hospital, or how he’d never forget the way his stomach dropped when he saw Aziraphale bleed red for the first time.

Crowley couldn’t say any of those things while his husband was humming along to the radio – which now played other things besides Queen, and was currently playing an ABBA song – with one hand out the window and a contented smile on his face.

So Crowley just kept his hands on the wheel, his eyes on the road, and one foot on the brakes.

_Husband._ The word never failed to make him smile, warmth spreading from his core to his face and neck. He still couldn’t believe how easy it had been. File a form, stand in front of a judge, kiss kiss, done. Married. Bonded together in the eyes of God and the law. In a way, it was simply a formality to confirm what they’d both known for years – centuries, even. Hardly worth the pomp and circumstance. But if Crowley knew one thing, it was that naming something aloud gave it weight. Crowley, once a demon of hell, once an angel of heaven, once a builder of star systems, and now simply a person on Earth, understood the value of a label. _Husband,_ he thought again, just to feel the flutter in his chest. He watched Aziraphale’s hand hanging out the window as it gently swirled along with the wind. The gold ring on his fourth finger sparkled in the sunlight.

“Mind, dear.” Aziraphale hummed without turning his eyes from the road. A sideways smile indicated to Crowley that he had been caught staring. With a blush he returned his attention forward, to find that he had drifted out of their lane a smidge.

The M25 was hell. Literally, it was designed in hell. By him, but who’s counting? He had never been so anxious in his life as he was trying to navigate that fucking sigil of doom. Once they’d made it outside the city, though, the drive was okay. He was still on high alert, but there were much fewer cars on the road out here and he was able to relax a bit. Finally, they turned onto a winding gravel driveway up to a secluded little cottage. Crowley threw the car into park and sighed heavily.

_Takes all the fun out of driving_ , he griped to himself, _being mortal and in love_.

“Well that was a lovely drive, don’t you think, my dear? Such a nice area. Hard to believe it’s so close to the city and still so wild.” Aziraphale chattered happily as they got out of the car and walked up to the cottage. It was small, two stories, with a tudor-style construction. On the lawn stood a little For Sale sign with a woman’s face in the corner. That same woman came out of the cottage, smiling broadly.

“Mister Fell, Mister Crowley, so nice to meet you.” She shook both of their hands and ushered them inside. With each room that she showed them – a quaint little kitchen, a sunny living room, a cozy master bedroom, a second bedroom/nursery – Crowley could feel Aziraphale falling more and more in love.

“Oh, a breakfast nook!” He would squeal.

“This would be a lovely spot for the bookshelves, don’t you think, my dear?” He would swoon.

“Oh, look at all the yard space! You could have a little garden, hm?” He would gush.

Crowley could see the realtor getting a little too comfortable, so he did his best to corner her.

“How is it in the winter? Drafty, I’d imagine, old house like this.”

“Brand new insulation was installed last year, as well as central temperature control.” Her eyes met his, suddenly sharp. She knew this part of the game just as well, it seemed.

“How’s the school district?”

“Very highly rated.”

“And the neighborhood? Safe?”

“Couldn’t be safer. Crime rate plummeted when the new mayor took office three years back.”

Hm. She was good. Or maybe, this house really was just perfect for them. Crowley finally let himself meet Aziraphale’s hopeful gaze, knowing that would be the thing that broke him.

“Alright, then. We’ll take it.”

Aziraphale whooped quietly and bounced up onto his toes to plant a kiss on Crowley’s cheek. Crowley only rolled his eyes affectionately.

After the bit with the signing of forms and the utilizing of checkbooks was done, Crowley and Aziraphale piled back into the Bentley and drove away from the cottage. They rode in pleasant silence – broken only by a Tegan and Sara ballad playing softly on the radio. Aziraphale’s hand drew lazy circles on Crowley’s leg, his gaze still out the window. A heavenly smile graced his features, and it said something like ‘this is bliss’ and ‘how did I get so lucky?’ and ‘I love him’.


	18. the death of all things seen and unseen

Warm countryside sunshine spilled into the kitchen while Aziraphale and Crowley sat, drinking their morning tea and coffee, respectively. Crowley watched a bee bumble slowly around the garden, listened to the birds chirping, and thought about how fucking audacious it was for nature to seem so chipper at a time like this.

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed as he leaned closer to the paper he was skimming. Every once in a while, he would mutter an “oh my word” or a “dear God” or simply a wounded sound.

“Angel, why are you reading that shit? It’s only gonna make you feel worse.” Not that Crowley, who had been avoiding the news for weeks now, was feeling any better.

“We need to stay informed, dear.” He spoke without tearing his eyes from the paper.

Crowley grimaced and set his mug down heavily. “Do we really?”

Aziraphale ignored him, heaving another despondent sigh at whatever new statistic he had come across.

Fuck it. “I’m going to garden for a while.” He stood and drained his coffee in one sip. It had mostly gone cold at this point. He noticed that Aziraphale’s tea, forgotten by his elbow, was still mostly full and also likely cold.

There wasn’t much to do, in the garden. A lot of the work of gardening was in the preparation of the soil and the planting of seeds and sprouts. Now that he’d done that, it was mostly a waiting game. A bit of weeding, a bit of watering, and a lot of waiting. But still, people were saying things like “it’s important to keep busy” and “try to get outside!”, so he liked to wander around his garden and talk to the seeds. He didn’t talk to plants the way he used to anymore. He didn’t much like the idea of striking Infernal Fear into something that would someday bear him food. Not that he could, these days. So he just, talked.

He sat down near the apple sapling he had brought home a while ago and rested a hand on his knee.

“I don’t understand why he’s so worked up. He’s obsessed with this one. As if we haven’t seen hundreds of plagues and pandemics in our time. Throughout history, he’s always mourned while the humans dropped like flies, but never like this. It’s consuming his every waking moment. He can’t even drink tea properly anymore! And I don’t think he’s afraid for himself, either, because he wants to go out! I have to stop him going to the grocery store, I have to be the one to remind him that we’re mortal, that we’re vulnerable. I just” He huffed a breath. “I wish things would go back to normal.”

The conversation continued on like this for some time, Crowley griping and the apple sapling politely listening, sometimes swaying in the breeze sagely.

After a while he started to notice the dew seeping through his jeans, and it became uncomfortable. He stood up, dusted himself off, and thanked the sapling for its time before wandering back inside.

He found Aziraphale in the sitting room watching the news on TV, with a new cup of tea, again forgotten and cold.

“Are you fucking kidding” he muttered under his breath, and crossed the room to turn the set off.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed indignantly.

“Why are you torturing yourself, angel!” He turned towards his love, shouting. “Why do you want to watch the numbers get higher, the map get redder, what are you trying to do to yourself?”

“We- we have to stay informed.” He replied weakly.

“We really fucking don’t, Aziraphale! What we need to do, is try to stay healthy and _sane_ for the next few months, until we-”

“ _I_ need to stay informed!” Aziraphale stood, matching Crowley’s stance and volume. Crowley’s mouth dropped open. It was so unlike the angel to yell.

“Time and time again, heaven has sent plagues down to punish humanity for something or another. The locusts, the great flood, the black death, and every time I’ve been under their thumb – I couldn’t be seen undermining them. I’ve stood by, and watched, as people suffered, people _died,_ and I sat on my hands for fear of being caught. I helped who I could, but it was never enough. _So much suffering.”_ He nearly cracked a sob. “I promised myself, _I promised,_ that if I ever was able to operate on my own free will, I’d do more, I’d do anything I could to help. And now, here I am, doing nothing. Because there’s nothing I can do. I can’t heal, or call miracles, or even give comfort to those beyond saving. I can’t even _fucking_ go outside and help in a human way, because we’re under a lockdown order.” He steamed in silence for a moment, trying to catch his breath. “The least I can do is bear witness, Crowley. I can’t stick my head in the sand and pretend it’s not happening.”

“Angel.” Crowley crossed the room quickly and enveloped his love in a bracing hug. “I understand. I know how it is to feel helpless. You remember, during the flood, when I brought those two kids aboard the arc?” He felt Aziraphale nod. “It was _two kids_ , Aziraphale. That’s nothing in the face of how many people died. But it made a difference to those two kids. And all their descendants.” He tipped Aziraphale’s head up to meet his eyes. “Torturing yourself by watching the news won’t do anyone any good, hm? But we don’t have to do nothing, or pretend nothing’s wrong. What good could we be doing right now, from home? Let’s think.”

He guided the two of them to sit on the sofa. Aziraphale’s tearstained face furrowed in concentration.

“Well, I suppose once some of the food in the garden comes up, we could donate that?”

“Great idea, angel. What else, hm? What else do you think people need, right now?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Well, I’ve heard that many people who are out of work are worried about not making rent and getting evicted.”

Crowley nodded. “That’s true. Maybe we could look into some mutual aid networks and rent strike organizations, see if they need any help that we can offer virtually.”

“Oh! I saw something on the news about a hotline you could call if you’re isolated during this time, if you just need a chat, maybe we could volunteer doing that.” The angel was visibly starting to brighten.

“Mhm, I read about something similar online where young people who are stuck at home and might be getting misgendered a lot can call and have their right name and pronouns used. We could look into that as well.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely.” He smiled. “Thank you, my dear, I’ve been feeling so despondent.”

“I know, luv. That’s normal. But we have to take care of ourselves if we want to be able to provide any support at all. And that means” He levered a significant glance over the rim of his glasses. “No more news. Alright? Things are bad. We know it. No use pouring salt in the wound.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I suppose you’re right. Now, I’m going to fix us some lunch, and then perhaps we can sit down at the computer together and decide what we’d like to do next.”

The demon pressed a smiling kiss to the angel’s forehead. “Sounds good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.idealist.org/en/careers/help-others-coronavirus  
> https://www.vox.com/future-perfect/2020/3/24/21188779/mutual-aid-coronavirus-covid-19-volunteering  
> https://itsgoingdown.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/RACIST-WATCH123.pdf  
> https://themutualaid.tumblr.com/post/156564770022/stay-involved
> 
> Here are some (very cursorally grabbed) resources for things to be doing if you are quarantined/maybe have limited ability to go outside and do things. Remember, put your own oxygen mask on before assisting others.


End file.
